


so baby, come light me up

by infiniteandsmall



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxiety, Canon Compliant, Gen, M/M, dressage, they love each other and they are gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-11 04:22:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8953498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infiniteandsmall/pseuds/infiniteandsmall
Summary: Viktor Nikiforov holds the world record for the highest score on a Grand Prix musical freestyle with a 94.2 percent. After a particularly disasterous Championship test, Yuuri Katsuki is unsure he will ever make it past Prix St. George level.However, Viktor seems to see something in him.The only thing Yuuri knows is that he is either going to have to find a way to make Viktor sign some sort of contract stating that he is forbidden to mention Yuuri's seat due to a new and alarming blush reflex Yuuri seems to have acquired, or he is going to end up having a very embarrassing time in warm-up rings this season.*A reimagining of canon events, but they're all elite dressage riders.





	1. Prix St. George of Tears!!!

**Author's Note:**

> title from "into you" by ariana grande because they are the epitome of a happy and cute pop song.  
> i have always wanted to write a dressage au and i've never found a fandom that worked so I'm Dying, Scoob because my gay figure skating parents are perfect for it. i have ridden and worked with horses my whole life so despite being currently at training level with my horse and thus a Dressage Baby i know a fair amount about the sport. also i do not plan to really address issues such as rolkur/drugging/horse abuse, the main characters will try to train horses kindly and perform movements with relaxation and correct biomechanics vs. flashy but hollow/tense.  
> and YES viktor's horse's name is the russian word for princess!

By the end of the show season, Yuuri is simultaneously crying and suffocating in a port-a-potty. The Florida summer is approaching and the air is thick and heavy with heat. His eyes burn and his whole body still feels so tense that a push would crack it in two. His parents are asleep on the other side of the world. He imagines his dad, able to get more done at the resort today, perhaps, because he does not have to go to the barn and exercise Vic-chan. Then he thinks of Vic-chan and starts crying all over again. He clenches his phone and the small anxiety of dropping it into the port-a-potty builds on all the other awful feelings in his stomach to become an almost-unbearable physical pain. He cries until he can’t stand the smell, and emerges only to be nearly bowled over by Yuri Plisetsky, champion of the Forth Level classes.

“Crying?” Yuri sneers.

Yuuri almost turns and goes back into the port-a-potty. He would probably pass out and die, but it would be better than having to face anyone, and better than facing Yuri Plisetsky in particular.

“No, no,” Yuuri stammers. “It’s hot, I was just, um, it’s sweat!”

Yuri twists his lips around into a smirk/grimace/snarl combo that is truly bewildering to behold. “Sure. Looks like you got a lot of work to do…see you next season!” His tone suggests that it is unlikely that Yuuri will be returning next season, and that this would be extremely gratifying to him as he has no desire to ever see Yuuri again in his life.

Yuri turns and heads back towards the barn. Yakov, who Yuuri knows in the way that everyone knows everyone in this sport, a cluster of grooms and working students and.

Viktor Nikiforov.

Yuuri is probably imagining it. Maybe it’s the blur of humidity in the air, but it almost seems like Viktor turns and looks right at him. It's the distance, and the tears in his eyelashes, and the smudges on his glasses, Yuuri tells himself.

Yuuri squeaks and makes for Fish’s stall.

 

They’re pulling out early the next day to start the long haul back to California. Yuuri has the mother of all hangovers and a million missed calls from his parents on his phone. The year-end awards banquet had been a hellish pit of social anxiety, as usual, and Yuri had spent the night drinking too much and standing in the corner.

Yakov's group is flying back to California later in the afternoon, and they’re all clustered around as Yuuri and Celestino pack up.

Yuuri’s leading Fish down the aisle when he hears Viktor Nikiforov calling after him.

“Yuuri Katsuki!” he calls, and Yuuri freezes, Fish wheeling impatiently around him.

Viktor stands at the other end of the aisle, waving. “Yuuri, come take a picture! You and me and Fish and Knyaz’ya!”

Fish paws and shifts from side to side. Yuuri’s legs turn into putty. Yuri glowers from behind Viktor, who is beaming a smile so bright it feels like a being hit by the brights of an oncoming car. Yuri contemplates the probability of spontaneously sinking into the ground.

“Yuuri, you coming?” Celestino calls.

Yuuri reels Fish around so fast that he breaks into a trot the second he gets straight. Yuuri would typically chide him, but right now? He lets Fish drag him down the aisle and out of there.

 

The drive back to California is long. It gives him way more time than he needs to think. Typically he would fly back and meet Fish back at the farm, but with Vic-chan’s death the thought of Fish getting hurt somewhere in the middle of Oklahoma without Yuuri there is unbearable. Thankfully Minako had refused to let him make the drive alone because the middle of Oklahoma in unbearable as well. It is flat and empty, and Yuuri gets a little emo about it.

He thumbs through pictures of Vic-chan on his phone while Minako drives. Everything about his pony had been loveable, from his thick shaggy mane to his tiny feet. For a minute he forgets that he will never see him again, and chuckles at a picture of Vic-chan curiously reaching out towards the carrot nose of a snowman.

“Have you called Yuuko?” Minako asks.

“Hmm? Um, no," Yuuri says, a little sheepishly. Yuuko had been the first to notice that Vic-chan was colicking and had done everything she could. When everything was over, she'd left Yuuri a very kind voicemail that Yuuri had cried over but never answered.

They’re quiet for a few seconds.

Minako looks over. “You know he had a wonderful retirement. Your mother spoiled him in place of you. Your father really enjoyed spending time outside with him every day.”

Yuuri’s eyes water around the corners, for about the millionth time in the past few days. He is suddenly, overwhelmingly homesick.

“Thank you,” he says.

Minako smiles. “About time. Best groom ever, right?”

Yuuri’s mouth wobbles into a grin. “Of course, of course! I would be lost without you…you’re like the queen of Fish!”

“Damn right I am. Pass the Funyuns, please!”

“Disgusting,” Yuuri says, but he passes them anyways.

 

They pull in at a barn somewhere in Texas for the horses to rest. Fish and Squeak, Yuuri’s best friend Phichit’s horse, will get a chance to rehydrate and sleep, and then in eight hours they’ll be off again. A group of barn children in ratty sweatshirts and rubber rainboots crowd around, oohing and ahhing.

“Mr. Katsuki, your horse is sooo beautiful,” one of the bolder ones says. The rest of them trail slightly behind, eying Fish like they would like to put him on the shelf with their Breyer horses.

Yuuri is simultaneously very tired and very hyped up on coffee.

“Viktor Nikiforav,” Minako hisses, “is _always_ nice to his fans.” She nudges him with her very sharp elbow. “Offer to let them pet Fish.”

Yuuri does as he is told, and Fish is subjected to the grasping and scratching of a million tiny hands. He seems to enjoy the attention, and Yuuri has to pull him away as the children’s trainer peels them off of Fish.

“Have a safe trip back, Mr. Katsuki!” the trainer calls as she marches the kids away.

“Say thank you!” Minako hisses.

“I kno-ow,” Yuuri says under his breath, and calls out a “thank you!” as commanded.

“Good,” Minako says.

 

Fish makes in back to California safely, but Yuuri wishes he could drop off the face of the earth.

He has a few lessons, during which he is tense and Fish is tenser. Finally, Celestino suggests that Fish get a few months off to roam and relax, and while Yuuri agrees that Fish deserves a break, he is more and more convinced that this thing is going nowhere.

When he flies back home, he feels like maybe never getting on a horse again. His mom feeds him, his dad cracks bad jokes, his sister Mari shows him a photo she found: him in the middle of the arena at Castle Farms, hands perched bossily on his hips, with Vic-chan performing a lovely stretchy trot and Mari perched awkwardly, feet jammed through the stirrups, on his back. Within two days, though, he’s buckling his helmet and climbing over the fence into the outdoor ring.

His old friend Yuuko holds the reins of Hush, the ex-Grand Prix horse who his first trainer had brought up through the levels. He was over twenty now, but still well-muscled and sleek.

“Thank you so much, Yuuko,” he says.

She tightens the girth another hole and pulls down his stirrups. “Of course, Yuri! I’ve missed seeing you ride! I dug out the dressage saddle and dusted it off just for you. Maybe you’ll even motivate me to practice my dressage while you’re here!” She says.

“Eventers,” Yuri says fondly, hopping into the saddle

“Dressage queen!” she says.

It feels good to be back in the saddle, and it feels good to see Yuuko. He’d learned how to do half-passes on this horse, with his old trainer’s more-than-slightly abrasive voice calling out across the arena, and he feels light and excited as a high-schooler again.

He gathers him up a bit and picks up the trot. His gaits are slightly stiffer than Fish’s but also more energetic, surging forward from behind easily.

Yuuko laughs. “He knows you’ll get on his case! Look at him go all fancy at once!”

Yuuri keeps him moving forward until he loosens up, and then he practices simple collections and lengthenings before trying a few shoulders-in and haunches-in. 

Riding Hush with Yuuko watching him brings back all the memories of growing up on this farm. He and Yuuko pored over articles about Viktor Nikiforav, watching his tests on youtube and performing their own facsimiles of them. Viktor’s musical freestyle at the FEI World Cup, his first big publicized Grand Prix, was their favorite. He’d done his musical freestyle to _Stay Close to Me,_ and he’d been captivating, a nobody from Russia who finished in fifth, before some of the big names. Yuuko and Yuuri immediately ripped the song off of youtube onto the mp3 players and blasted it in the arena at all hours, to the annoyance of some of the older boarders.

Yuuri smiles remember. He trots down the centerline, halt at x, salutes. He can feel the rhythm of the music, and he remembers every move of the freestyle as though he’d just watched it yesterday. Hush is loose and relaxed, responsive and through even in the difficult movements. Yuuri flubs some of the Intermediate II level movements, as he had not practiced them in a while, but when he lets out the reins after his final salute he can hear Yuuko whistling and cheering.

“Yuuri! Yuuri! You have to give us a lesson!”

“I got it all on video!”

“Yuuri! Teach me the piaffe, pleeease!” The triplets clamber up onto the fence, waving phones.

“You can learn to piaffe when you actually learn to collect your canter when your instructor says!” Yuuko says. “Now scootch and go get ready for your lesson!  And where’s Minami? He’s got a lesson at 5:00!”

Hush watches them go balefully as they hop down from the fence and scamper off. Yuuko smiles. “It’s good to have you back, Yuuri.”

 

Yuuri is used to waking up at the crack of dawn to fit everything into the day. Since coming home, he has fallen into a pleasant lazy habit of waking up at nine.

This morning, his phone starts buzzing at seven.

“Oh nooo,” Yuuri says, head in his hands.

“I am so, so sorry, Yuuri,” Takeshi says. He can hear Yuuko and the triplets yelling in the background.

“It’s…fine.” Yuuri says. In spite of himself, he presses PLAY on the video.

The triplets even added in the music. His piaffes are so bad that Celestino would probably send him back to first level. He wants to die a little bit. There are several thousand views already.

“BRO,” Phichit texts, and then, “I think Yuri Plisentsky just subtweeted you?”

Yuuri turns off his phone and goes back to bed.

 

Despite the fact that they exposed him to humiliation, Yuuri gives the triplets lessons, because he is a fundamentally kind person. Minami follows him around the barn and pleads for a lesson until Yuuri gives in and gives him one too, only for Minami to fall prey to the spring cold front that rolls in. He gets bucked off, though he stayed on for an impressively long time.

“Will that teach you to lunge before you ride when it’s cold out?” Yuuri says, once Minami’s OTTB gelding is caught and a lunge line and whip have been fetched.

“Yes,” Minami says sheepishly, as he takes the gelding into the center of the ring and lets him out, holding tight to the lunge line as the gelding takes off.

The days have fallen into an easy rhythm. The flowers bloom, and it gets hot enough that they start watering the horses four times a day. The trees are almost fully green and flies swarm both in the barn and out when Yuri finds a lovely bay mare in a previously-empty stall while feeding lunch. “Yuuko! Who’s the new lady?” He calls, to no response. The fueedcard tells him how much hay he needs to give, but he’s still curious. There isn’t even a nameplate up yet. He pulls out the feedcard, knowing that Yuuko always writes the owner’s information on the back.

“Viktor Nikiforov?” Yuri gasps. The horse eyes him, hungry and unimpressed. Yuuri peers back into the stall and sees the two white socks. The horse pokes her nose out, imploringly, and there’s the white snip. “It’s Knyaz’ya!” Yuuri whispers. Viktor Nikiforov’s Grand Prix horse is right here, right now? Yuuri is possibly in some kind of waking dream/nightmare.

Yuuri leaves the hay cart in the aisle and runs, the loud banging of the horse kicking her stall door behind him.

Viktor is signing papers in the front office, wearing very tight breeches with his tall boots.

From the look on Yuuko’s face, she is also reconsidering her own perception of reality. “Viktor wanted it to be a surprise!” She says.

“Surprise!” Viktor says, grinning.

“Viktor…what…what are you doing here?” Yuuri says.

“I’ll be your coach! Together we can win Prix St. George Champion and advance to Intermediate I!” His eyes are more blue than in pictures, and very intense up close, and he is wearing one of those half-zips that have the half-mesh on the sleeves and the sides for the summer heat.

“What do you say?” Viktor says.

And then he _winks._

Yuuri tries not to swear at the barn. There are children literally swarming everywhere. But sometimes he can’t help it.

“What the FUCK?” Yuuri says.


	2. Two Yuris, One Horse!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sound great!” Viktor says. “I am really looking forward to getting to know you, Yuuri Katsuki.”  
> He walks down the aisle as Minami pokes his head out of his horse’s stall.  
> “Hate to see him go but love to watch him leave?” he says.  
> “Don’t you have a lesson with Yuuko to get to?” Yuuri almost wails, his voice so high it cracks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've aged Yurio up by three years (and possibly aged everyone else up a bit?) just because a fifteen year old dressage prodigy seems like really unlikely. also THANK YOU SO MUCH TO EVERYONE WHO COMMENTED AND GAVE KUDOS!!

“That’s a yes!” Yuuko says. “Now why don’t you go show him around, Yuuri?"

“I don’t have a horse?” Yuuri says. “I quit with Celestino, and Fish was his.”

“That’s why I brought the princess!” Viktor says cheerfully.

Yuuri attempts to communicate “I have to go dig a hole and lie in it” with his eyebrows, but Yuuko ignores him, filing the papers away with a flourish and slipping off.

“Okay—okay. Um, right this way,” Yuuri says. “So we have all day or half day turnout, or twenty four seven turnout if you stay at the lower barn, and we have the outdoor jumping ring and the indoor dressage ring, and the cross country course is in the upper field—“

Viktor nods, and smiles in the corner of his mouth, and Yuuri keeps babbling on about different grain options and blanketing fees and arena maintenance.

Viktor follows Yuuri as he finishes haying the horses in the barn, he follows Yuuri as he hauls hay out to the pastures, sweating and red faced. Yuuri wonders if, in reality, he is lying in his bed covered in blankets and all this is just a fever dream.

“Is that the horse you recreated my freestyle with?” Viktor says, pointing to Hush, who is currently intimidating the other horses away from the bulk of the hay.

Yuuri can’t decide whether the fact that Viktor saw the video is the most embarrassing moment of his life, or if it pales in comparison to the fact that Viktor saw him be equally awful in real life with his own two eyes. He doesn’t know what to say, so he just yells, “Hush, knock it off!” Hush gives him a nasty look and continues as before.

“So I heard your family runs a hot springs resort! Any chance I could stay there?” Viktor says, walking backwards in front of Yuuri as they head back to the barn. He starts waggling his eyebrows ridiculously but somehow by the end of the motion he is giving a Yuuri a genuinely sultry look.

How did he find that out? Yuuri thinks. Was he stalking me on the internet? Did he find my tumblr, which is all pictures of him tagged AHHHH?

Viktor nearly trips on a pothole and Yuuri gives a snort of laughter before he even realizes it.

Viktor looks over his shoulder and flashes Yuuri a grin. 

“Of—of course!” Yuuri says. “I’ll give you directions right now…and you can go get set, and take a nap, and all that…it’s just a very short walk from here!”

“Sound great!” Viktor says. “I am really looking forward to getting to know you, Yuuri Katsuki.”

He walks down the aisle as Minami pokes his head out of his horse’s stall.

“Hate to see him go but love to watch him leave?” he says.

“Don’t you have a lesson with Yuuko to get to?” Yuuri almost wails, his voice so high it cracks.

 

Yuuri arrives home, covered in sawdust, to find Viktor sleeping in floor of the banquet room with his poodle, who Yuuri knows from rigorous social media stalking as Makkachin. One of the inn’s robes is slipping off one shoulder, surrounded by suitcases and boxes.

“I feel like a gremlin,” he says to Mari, who is blatantly watching Viktor sleep.

“That’s because you are,” Mari says. “You missed your chance to see him soak in the springs again.”

“Nonono!” Yuuri says. “I’m not being a creep!”

“Sure,” Mari says. “You owe me. I helped carry all of your man’s stuff into here.”

“He’s not my man!” Yuuri protests.

“Um-hm. Look on twitter. All your horsey buddies are retweeting stuff about him leaving Russia and bringing his horse and coming here just to coach _you_.”

Yuuri fumbles for his phone.

Mari rolls her eyes. “And you still owe me!”  she calls as she walks down the hall.

Yuuri is still crouched and staring, wide-eyed, at Viktor’s sleeping form when Viktor stirs and opens his eyes.

“Hello, Yuuri!” he says, yawning.

“Ah, hello!” Yuuri says, hurriedly closing tabs on his phone of articles with titles like VIKTOR NIKIFOROV: RETIRING? or VIKTOR NIKIVOROV QUITS COMPETING TO COACH UNKNOWN JAPANESE RIDER WHO HAS NEVER SHOWED ABOVE PRIX ST. GEORGE, LOL.

Makkachin wakes, too, trotting over to Yuuri to investigate him. Viktor slides his robe back on his shoulder and scootches towards Yuuri on his knees.

“Don’t worry about the coaching fee. We can worry about that later, if that’s why you look nervous,” Viktor says. “But tell me about everything about yourself, Yuuri, so we can build trust in our relationship…where did you learn to ride? Who was your first horse? Where are fun places to go to here?”

He slides a hand under Yuuri’s chin. He has calluses from reins and lead ropes and baling twine just like Yuuri does, but his touch still sends a pleasant shiver down Yuuri’s spine. Yuuri can feel his face get hot and he know’s he’s getting tomato red.

“Are there any girls you like?” Viktor continues, and Yuuri shoots back so suddenly that Makkachin yelps.

“Poor puppy, I am sooo sorry!” Yuuri says, as Viktor shrugs.

“I guess we can start simply…how about…what’s your favorite food!”

Yuuri forgets his embarrassment for a second. Food does have that healing power. “Pork cutlet bowls! They’re delicious!”

“Pork cutlet bowls?” Viktor says. “Could I have one? I’m starving hungry, Yuuri! I’m wasting away!” He advances with his arms outstretched, and Yuuri takes off down the hall before Viktor can do anything, such as putting his very strong arms around Yuuri and causing Yuuri’s early and untimely death.

Viktor is unpacking his things after devouring two pork cutlet bowls and making Yuuri’s mother, father, and sister all fall in love with him. He is attempting to dig out his spurs from a mountain of breeches, when Yuuri remembers that his room is literally plastered with posters of Viktor.

“Oh nooo,” he hisses as he slams the door behind him, afraid that Viktor will pop in suddenly and see that Yuuri is a Big Massive Creep. A million papery Viktors stare down at him: Viktor in a pony club magazine shortly after he became a big name, when his hair had been long, demonstrating how to put your hair up for a show. Viktor beaming as he let the reins out after his gold-medal winning test at the World Equestrian Games. A shot of the concentration in his face as he performed a piaffe. A picture of him working Knyaz’ya at home, helmetless, hair falling over his face, in ridiculous patent leather tall boots and a hoodie.

Yuuri makes quick work of taking them down. He looks down at the stack of posters in his hand. He’d never spoken to Viktor, really. How could he speak to someone who was a poster on his bedroom walls? But Viktor was here now, solid and human. He wolfed down his food, he got sleep in his eyes. And he had come here, he had even flown his Grand Prix horse here, all to coach Yuuri.

As he is shoving the posters into the back of his closet, his phone starts going off. He’d turned off notifications for most of his social media because thanks to Viktor his mentions had been a mess (according to Phichut, a fate worse than death). So it must be someone texted him.

Your Savior: YUURI WHAT THE HELL!!!!

Yuuri’s guessing Minako had seen the news.

 

Minako has wound down on scolding and advice and is finally getting into the latest gossip when Viktor start knocking on Yuuri’s door.

“Ah! I’ll call you back! Tell me everything later!” Yuuri says, hurriedly hanging up in spite of Minako’s protests.

“Yuuri!” Viktor calls. “Oh Yuuri! I have a question!” Yuuri can hear the thump-thump of Makkachin’s wagging tail hitting the door.

“Come in, come in,” Yuuri says, ushering Viktor into his room white doing a discrete scan to make sure he didn’t miss any posters.

Viktor looks almost shy as he looks around. “Could I sleep here with you tonight? As your coach, I want to get to know you better!”

“Of—of course! I can get you set up! Um, we can put you right here on the floor, I promise I don’t snore or anything, and, yeah! Let me go get some pillows!” Yuuri rushes out of the room. He thinks he might die before Viktor even gets around to giving him a lesson.

 

It’s easier in the dark.

“Want me to turn out the lights?” Viktor says.

“Yeah, sure!” Yuuri says, laying very stiffly underneath the covers, hoping he doesn’t look like some kind of blanket mutant.

His eyes haven’t adjusted to the dark yet, but he can hear blankets rustling and one of his joints cracking loudly as Viktor settles down.

They both lie there, quiet, for a couple of seconds. Even though Yuuri is terrified to make a sound, he can relax more now, curling up into a ball the way he always sleeps.

“So,” Viktor says, voice quiet in the dark. “Did you learn to ride at Castle Farms?”

Yuuri can’t see more than the shape of Viktor on the floor next to him. “Yeah. They mostly did eventing. I jumped a lot when I was a kid, but I was timid about it. My instructor didn’t really think I would go anywhere when I first started, but Yuuko always believed in me and I enjoyed her friendship and spending time with horses, so I stuck with it.”

Viktor makes a humming sound. “And then you found dressage!”

“Yeah! They got a new school pony, he’d been a rescue. He was a holy terror, he’d definitely been abused, but I loved him, at once.” Yuuri smiles at the ceiling, thinking of Vic-chan. “I even got to name him, since they didn’t know what his name had been. I wasn’t particularly brave, or skilled, I don’t think…but I wanted to work with that pony more than anything. I started taking dressage lessons because he was so unbalanced and because he hated jumping, and the dressage instructor realized that both me and Vic-chan were good at it, Vic-chan more so than me, of course.  My parents bought him for me several years after I started working with him. I showed him up to second level by the time I was sixteen. That’s when I knew…I knew I wanted to do this, forever.”

Viktor’s propped up on his elbow, listening. “I saw you posted on Instagram about him passing away. I’m very sorry.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri says.

“Thank you for telling me about yourself,” Viktor says, almost solemnly. “I guess we should get some sleep…a lesson tomorrow?”

“Sounds great,” Yuuri says.

Viktor rolls over, and Yuuri hears his breath grow slow and even. He lies awake in the dark for a while, remembering that sound in Viktor’s voice, both happy and excited to ride the way he hasn’t been in a while.

 

Viktor is acclimating Knyaz’ya to the ring. She moves so beautifully, almost effortlessly, loose and relaxed yet engaged and collected.

“So will you be training here?” Takeshi, Yuuko’s husband, is standing rinkside, allegedly waiting to water the arena but in reality just gawking.

“For now, yes,” Yuuri says. “I’ll make sure to schedule our lessons on the board.”

“Don’t worry much about that. It’s an honor to have Viktor Nikiforov here, for sure.”

“I didn’t know you could fit that many tempi changes into one line,” Yuuri mutters as they go back to watching.

“Yuuri will ride her in a few days,” Viktor calls. “But first he needs to learn to quiet his hands! The princess will pitch him if he gets handsy with her!”

“Roasted!” One of the triplets hisses, and Yuuri jumps.

“They do pop up like that,” Takeshi says. “Now don’t bother Viktor when he’s riding. If you don’t have anything better to do, you can clean tack!”

 

“Why do you think you get so handsy?” Viktor says as they stand grazing, Viktor with Kn’yazya and Yuuri with Hush. “I have seen you ride with very quiet hands, but sometimes your hands get loud. Is it a habit or is it nerves?”

“I don’t know…I guess it’s nerves, I usually don’t get handsy with Fish at home, but then I think I just get nervous at shows.”

“Do you get nervous when you ride young horses?”

“Yeah, and I get handsy with them too. Celestino always tells me quiet my hands, and that I tend to hold them in too much.”

Viktor nods. “I’ve noticed that too.”

Yuuri looks out. It’s beautiful here, and familiar, with the cross-country course in the field above them and the mountains in the background. Yuuri wonders what it is that Viktor sees in him, just a dime-a-dozen rider.

“Is that the cross country course?” Viktor says.

“Umm-hmm!” Yuuri says.

“Really? I haven’t been on one for ages! Come take a picture of me!”

 

“Yuuri, like my picture!” Viktor says, pocketing his phone. “I gave you photo creds!”

Yuuri pulls out his phone and likes the picture. It is a pretty shot, if he does say so himself: Viktor perched on one of the table jumps grinning, making a peace sign with one hand and holding Kn’yazya’s lead rope with the other. Kn’yazya looks slightly puzzled but not puzzled enough to refrain from nibbling on the flowers placed on either side of the table.

His phone goes off not long after Viktor posts the picture.

I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU ARE WORTH OF VIKTOR NIKIFOROV’S INSTAGRAM!! Phichit texts.

 I guess so! Yuuri texts back.

Are you worthy of his dick yet??? lol ;) Phichit replies. 

WHAT THE FUCK I AM BLOCKING YOU ON ALL SOCIAL MEDIA!!!! Yuuri types out the text furiously, realizing he is blushing only when he has slid his phone back into his pocket.

 

 “Jumping ring!” Viktor says gleefully.

“What?” Yuri says.

“Meet me at the jumping ring!” Viktor calls down the aisle.

“Here, Yuuri,” Yuuko says, handing him the reins of Silly, an OTTB eventer-turned-schoolmaster-eventer.

“Silly? The jumping ring?” Yuuri says.

“Viktor asked for a nice point-and-shoot jumper. Silly’s easy as pie to jump. Grab mane and go, Yuuri, you’ll be fine!” Yuuko says.

“Oh my god,” Yuuri groans.

Viktor is in the jump ring, fiddling with the standards, barn children lining the fence rail and gawking.

“Shoo!” Yuuri says, but the effort is futile. He regrets telling Viktor anything, ever.

“Climb aboard, Yuuri! Today is a day for enthusiasm! Hey, kids, can you make the one with the purple standards into a crossrail? Thanks, you’re angels. Yeah, and the one by the gate, the big oxer? Make it into…a little oxer, I guess!”

“Viktor…” Yuuri says. “I can’t jump. I’m awful at it.”

“That’s okay!” Viktor says cheerily, sliding his sunglasses to the top of his head. “Yuuko assured me that you would be capable of jumping this horse without dying, and I trust her with my life. She made me cookies, Yuuri! What a women.”

“I guess I’ll climb aboard, then,” Yuuri says.

“Did you and her ever date?” Viktor says.

“Oh my god,” Yuuri says, and hops into the saddle hoping that Viktor can’t see that he’s blushing.

“Okay, warm up,” Viktor says. “When’s the last time you jumped?”

Yuuri has to think about it. Probably when last summer, when he and Phichit went hacking with two of the four year olds at Celestino’s after a storm and hopped a few downed logs on trail with more enthusiasm than skill both on the part of the horse and the rider. “Kind of a while.”

“Me too,” Viktor says. “Stirrups feel weird, eh?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri says.

“Now Yuuko told me that this mare doesn’t like you messing around with her mouth, right?”

“Right,” Yuuri says.

“Stick your butt out more! Pockets towards the back!” Viktor says, and Yuuri’s pretty sure he winks. There has to be some sort of contract he can have Viktor sign that will prevent him from ever mentioning Yuuri’s butt again.

Silly is excited, switching leads in her back legs as Yuuri warms up in the canter, but as he rides he begins to remember the feeling of shorter stirrups and a half-seat, and he finds his rhythm.

“Okay, looks like you’re ready! Go over the crossrail, I guess, the one by that child in the pink shirt!”

Yuuri lines the mare up, the voice of his first instructor in his head: look up, use your LEGS to keep them straight, not your reins. GRAB MANE.

When Silly takes him easily over the tiny crossrail, Yuuri can’t stop smiling.

 

“You’re going to take advantage of Viktor being there. You better not quit!” Minako says when Yuuri calls her for their daily gossip session.

“Fine, Mom,” Yuuri says. “I wasn’t planning on it anyways.”

“And you better be doing your cardio, too!” she says.

“I am! We’ve been doing a lot of jumping lately. Always makes me think of you.”

“Oh please! I’m a dressage girl now. Have you gotten to ride Kn’yazya yet?”

“Just Hush,” Yuuri says. “Lots of seat lessons, too. But enough about me,” Yuuri says. “Let’s talk about you. Viktor asked if I had a crush on you-u…”

“Oh, please. Your gay ass?”

“What about you and Celestino?”

“Nasty! He’s old! And anyways, my gay ass?”

“Cough, cough, Christophe?”

“Fine, my bi ass. Also, I’ve heard through the grapevine that Christophe and Viktor used to have a thing when they were working students. Add that one to your spank bank.”

“Who’s nasty now?” Yuuri says. “And stop deflecting! I know you have something going on with someone!”

“Don’t presume!” Minako says, and Yuuri can practically see her pretending to stick her nose in the air.

“You literally told me when I left that you were staying because of a certain someone, who you refused to name!”

“When we actually get together, I’ll tell you who it is,” Minako groans. “Anyway, I gotta go. I have to be up early as usual tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I have to get going to. I think I’ll be riding Kn’yazya today!”

“Really? Good luck, hope it goes well. Also, before I go…Viktor seems very interested in your personal life for a trainer…”

“Meddler!” Yuuri says.

“Well bye, talk to you later!” Minako says in a cheery rush, and immediately hangs up.

 

Yuuri has his best breeches on and is nervously pulling on his gloves when someone kicks him in the ass and sends him flying into the tack room.

He hasn’t even sat up yet before he’s set upon by a blur of blond hair.

“You little fuck!”

A knee is shoved into Yuuri’s stomach.

“Yuri Plisetski?” Yuuri gasps.

“Why the fuck is Viktor here teaching you? I’m supposed to ride Goldfinger, not you!”

“Goldfinger? We haven’t even talked about me riding Goldfinger. She’s still in California!” Yuuri says, scrambling to his feet. His breeches are now covered in sawdust.

“What the FUCK? Where’s Viktor! He came all the way here and Goldfinger’s still just sitting in California?”

“I—I don’t know…I think he’s warming Kn’yazya up right now—“ Yuuri stammers.

“Show me the arena,” Yuri demands. He reaches out a closed fist to a few of the horses that are hanging their heads out the doors, brushing his knuckles over their velvety noses. “Well, maybe he’s trying to find a way to get Kn’yazya’s spark back,” he mutters. “Though I don’t see how having _you_ ride her would accomplish that.”

Yuuri choses to ignore the insult. “What do you mean?”

“Can’t you see, or are you as blind as you are a shitty rider?” Yuri says. “Kn’yazya’s bored. And so is Viktor. There’s no element of surprise for Viktor anymore, and nothing to truly challenge Kn’yazya. She’s a clever mare. She likes to think.”

Viktor is indeed warming up in the arena, and now that Yuri has pointed it out, Yuuri can see that both Kn’yazya and Viktor lack the spark that Yuuri remembers.

“Viktor promised that I could take Goldfinger in the Developing Horse Prix St. George once I was getting 70s in Forth Level. I’m not going to sit around at Prix St. George Level forever. Leonard is a great horse, but he’s not Grand Prix material. I want to take that mare and win Champion, if not this year than the next.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says. Yuri’s only eighteen, but he’s brilliant and ambitious, a prodigy in a way Yuuri never was.

Yuri sucks in a deep breath and hollers, “Viktor! Kn’yazya looks great!”

“Yuri? What are you doing here? What’s up?” Viktor brings Kn’yazy to a halt and lets out his reins. “I thought you and Leonard were in training!”

Yuri is making a growling sound low in his throat.

“Hmm. I’m guessing I forgot a promise I made?” Viktor says.

“You promised I could ride Goldfinger! Now you’re training this fucking…” Yuri waves a hand in Yuuri’s direction. “Whatever. I scored 79 in my last Forth Level test! 79! You said when I scored above 70 in Forth Level you would train me and Goldfinger and take us to the Developing Horse Prix St. George!”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I totally forgot!” Viktor buries his head in his hands. “Yuuri, you will find out that I can be really quite forgetful sometimes.”

“You can say that again,” Yuri mumbles, and then he calls, “Viktor, come back to California and start training me! A promise is a promise!”

“Let me sleep on it, Yuri! I have a lesson to give! Why don’t you go back to Yuuri’s place and we’ll meet here tomorrow at nine sharp and discuss it further. Ask in the front office for directions!”

“Fuck you!” Yuri yells. “And fuck you, too,” he says, jabbing Yuuri in the chest with a pointy and forceful finger.

“See you in the morning, I guess! Idiots!” Yuri calls, turning and heading down the aisle.

“Well…are you ready to get started?” Viktor says.

 

Yuri is sitting at Yuuri’s table eating pork cutlet bowls when Viktor and Yuuri arrived home.

“It’s very confusing,” Mari says. “Two Yuris. The little blond is Yurio now.”

“That’s not my name!” Yurio howls through a mouthful of noodles.

“Ha, it’s like your barn name!” Viktor says, sitting down next to Yurio. “Can I have a bite, Yurio?”

“Fuck off!”

“Come help me clean up the storage room for Yurio!” Mari calls. Yurio howls again, and Viktor laughs, bright and beautiful.

Yuuri’s stomach turns over. Yurio is comfortable with Viktor. Yurio is brilliant and unafraid. Where Yuuri is nervous, Yurio is confident. Of course Viktor would rather him train Goldfinger.

The feeling in his chest drives him out of the house and to the barn, just as it always did when he was a child.

“Yuuri! Back so soon? Do you want to spin Chili on the lunge line for me?” Yuuko says.

“Sure,” Yuuri says.

He goes to the outdoor ring. The big lights give the sand a yellowish cast, and the half moon glows. Whenever he’d been anxious, he’d come to the barn. He’d set up jumps, cleaned tack, watched lessons, and hoped for a chance to ride. Later, after he had Vic-chan, he enjoyed spending time with him, sitting on him bareback while he grazed, hacking around in the fields. He’d always liked to ride later, when no one else was riding. Riding alone made him less nervous. When he’d been young, riding had been excited and peaceful at the same time. He had never wanted to be just a backyard rider. He had always been ambitious, despite his nerves.

He knows he is not a genius, but he knows that he can work hard. He looks up at the dim stars as he lets Chili loose in her field again, and wonders if it will be enough.

 

“I have decided!” Viktor says. He stands in the middle of the ring holding Kn’yazya, who looks unimpressed.

“You’re coming to California with me?” Yurio says.

“No,” Viktor says. “We are having a competition!”

“What?” Yurio says.

“With him?” Yuuri says.

“Yes!” Viktor says. “Here’s what I plan. Both of you will come back to California. I will train both of you on Goldfinger for one month. Then we will attend a qualifying show. Both of you will show at Prix St. George Level. I will choreograph a musical freestyle for both of you, using the music I planned to use for my Grand Prix musical freestyle.”

“The same song? As him?” Yuuri says.

“Viktor, that’s stupid!” Yurio says.

“It has several different arrangements,” Viktor says. “Anyways. Whoever gets the highest score will continue training with Goldfinger and me, with the intention of qualifying for and competing at the Developing Horse Prix St. George.”

“What about the loser?” Yuuri says.

“The loser can use the freestyle I choreographed. I believe that the Developing Horse Prix St. George would be an excellent show for either of you to attend. I know both Yakov and Celestino have promising young horses that the loser could train and show.”

“I’m ready! Let’s book the damn tickets!” Yurio says. “I’m tired of staying in this hovel!”

“Be patient, Yurio,” Viktor says. “We leave in a week. Until then, I have promised Yuuri lessons on Kn’yazya. And a promise is a promise.”

The anxiety rising in Yuuri begins to recede. Viktor will keep his promise, as long as Yuuri rises to the challenge. He was ambitious, and he still is.

“Viktor…I promise to do the best that I can!” Yuuri says. “I want to show Goldfinger and I _will_ qualify for the Developing Horse.”

Viktor smiles. “I am glad to hear your determination. It’s what I like to hear.”

“God, I can’t stand hearing you two!” Yurio grumbles and crosses his arms. “I would go home…but it wouldn’t be fair for you to get Viktor all to yourself. Viktor has to give me a lesson on Kn’yazya tomorrow! All right?”

“I mean, it’s not like you care what I think,” Yuuri says. He feels a lightness in his chest, having expressed his determination.

“The hot springs are pretty great,” Viktor says. “Let’s get started then, Yuuri. And Yurio, you will have a lesson here tomorrow, same time. Be ready!”


	3. I'm a Dressage Queen, and a Dressage Queen is Me?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THEY ALL DRIVE TRUCKS BECAUSE IF YOU DON'T DRIVE A TRUCK ARE YOU EVEN A TRAINER also im fudging the canon a little and im fudging dressage a little probably so that when i open up he meets me where i am etc.  
> thank you so much to elsa roguish for betaing this chapter!! and thank you again to everyone who comments and kudos, i havent enjoyed writing as much as ive enjoyed writing this au in a long time!!

Kn’yazya is probably the most difficult horse Yuuri has ever ridden. She doesn’t put up with mistakes, and she doesn’t put up with laziness.

“She likes you,” Viktor says, when Yuuri begins their last lesson before heading back to California gripping the reins like they’re glued to his fists. “If she didn’t, she’d toss her for holding her in like that. You wouldn’t hold your lover in that tight! Release!”

Yuuri blushes. He’ll blame it on the increasing summer heat if anyone teases him later.

Viktor doesn’t provide much technical advice beyond correcting glaring mistakes. He mostly gives Yuuri advice on wooing the mare, who is the type who needs some wooing before she will offer much effort beyond the basics. He also says things like “more passion! Open up your hip flexors!” This makes Yuuri want to tape himself into a box and ship himself to the middle of Antarctica.

But Viktor is right, and if Yuuri wants a chance at (Goldfinger, Developing Horse, Intermediate I, Grand Prix?) _anything_ he knows he needs to more passion, less thinking.

More opened-but-shut, with thoughts as invisible as his aids. With a springs running deep underground, to arouse jealousy, to arouse talk like the birds that call in the hot summer nights and damp summer mornings.

Like Yurio, who rides like he is eighteen and brilliant because he is eighteen and brilliant, like a cougar so skilled he can convince a horse to let him sink his claws into their shoulders.

But Kn’yazya _likes_ him, and Yuuri can’t help but think she’s smart enough for that to mean something. She swings her head back to give him a parting gaze as she walks away from the gate towards the herd.

Yuuri watches her go. She’s settled and friendly, having worked out with the other mares that she is most definitely the boss. While she has frustrated him and tested the limits of his patience in the past week, he has the same friendly respect for her that he thinks she has for him.

He knows the sounds of this place so well that he can hear the sound of someone approaching him far before they reach him: the crunch of footsteps on the gravel, the rustle of drying summer grass.

And he’s getting to know Viktor’s footsteps: springy and firm and sometimes-sidetracked or distracted.

“She really does like you, you know,” Viktor says, coming up behind Yuuri and leaning an elbow on Yuuri’s shoulder. “She’s always been an excellent judge of character.”

Yuuri is getting used to Viktor’s touch. He doesn’t flinch away like he used to. He knows that Viktor is just a touchy person, but the hugs, the arms around his shoulders, the steadying hand on his waist when Viktor has to slide past him in the tack room make him feel settled and soft inside. “It’s all the times I feed a week,” Yuuri says.

“Maybe,” Viktor says with a grin. “She likes it here, too. She likes the quiet.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri says. Most of the kids have headed home for dinner. Nature is noisy right now, with cicadas and wind and crickets underfoot, but time is not. Yuuri hadn’t even realized how late it had gotten until now. The big hot sky is paling and cooling. The sunsets have been spectacular the past few days.

“I was thinking,” Viktor says, “that she could stay here for a bit. She’s worked hard for so long. Maybe time to be a horse would be the best thing for her.”

Yuuri looks at the herd. Kn’yazya is a commanding presence even from a distance. She’s got at least a hand, if not a hand-and-a-half, on most of the other mares, putting one back in her place with a nasty wrinkle of her nose as they watch. Viktor laughs.

“It couldn’t hurt,” Yuuri says. “You know she likes to work. She’d jump the moon for you. I don’t think it will spoil her.”

Viktor points. “Look at my bossy lady! It would be terrible of me to take her from her friends now that she’s made them.”

“I think they might be more like her subjects,” Yuuri says.

Viktor laughs again. If Yuuri could stand here at the fence cracking jokes and making Viktor laugh for the rest of his life, he would.

“Ready to head back? I’m sure Yurio hasn’t packed a thing. We should make sure your poor parents aren’t finding animal print clothing stuffed in every closet for months after he leaves.”

With Viktor’s full attention turned on him, Yuuri feels shy and awkward again. “Sure,” Yuuri says.

 

 

Yurio spends the flight watching movies or sleeping against the window, awakening only to growl because Viktor had gotten him cranberry juice, which is “disgusting.” He sucks it down in about three seconds flat anyways and promptly falls back to sleep.

Viktor trying to talk to Yuuri, and probably giving Yuuri literal grey hairs as a result. He persists in asking questions like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle: why is Yuuri Katsuki The Way That He Is? Yuuri envies Yurio comfort with Viktor: the way he acts like Viktor is an annoying older brother. He is very clearly not affected by Viktor’s blue eyes, strong jawline, and long expressive fingers.

“So do you have anyone you are looking forward to seeing in California?” Viktor says.

Yuuri has twisted the napkin that came with his small glass of airplane water to pieces. “Well, Minako, she always grooms from me, she came all the way from Hasetsu with me, and Phichit, he trains with Celestino—“

“From Thailand, his Instagram is great, right?” Viktor says.

“Yeah!” Yuuri says, a little louder than he intended. Yurio reaches over to kick him in the shins.

“I suppose we will see Chris again too. He is constantly inviting me to go swimming. I should suggest that he change sports.”

Yuuri remembers Minako saying, _I’ve heard Viktor and Chris used to have something going on…_ Viktor and Chris would be an attractive couple. Confident, talented. Yuuri doesn’t know him well, since  he had usually kept to himself at competitions, always feeling on the edge of the group.

“I think I’m going to take a nap,” Yuuri says.

“Good! We’re going to hit the ground running when we arrive.” Viktor sit back and starts untangling his earbuds. Yuuri knows that soon he will hear the tinny crackles of pop music played loudly: top forty follows Viktor like a cloud.

Yuuri tips his chin towards the ceiling and sleeps fitfully, terrified that he will lean his head on Viktor’s shoulder without realizing it.

California is warm, but there is little humidity and Yuuri likes seeing the dry mountains in the distance.

Minako picks them up at the airport, shaking Viktor’s hand very firmly, ignoring Yurio’s sulky stare, and wrapping Yuuri in a hug.

“I left my truck as Yakov’s, if you just want to take me there I can take Yurio home,” Viktor offers.

“Sure,” Minako says. The ride to Yakov’s is tense, as least for Yuuri. He’d already bribed Minako with loads and loads of cookies to never ever mention the posters of Viktor and the fact that Yuuri literally named his first pony after Viktor until Yuuri is ten feet under. However, she knows that because she’s the best groom ever Yuuri will be forced to make her cookies anyways, so the baked goods aren’t as much of an incentive as Yuuri would’ve liked.

Additionally, Yurio had immediately nabbed the driver’s side seat of Minako’s truck (“aren’t you like, twelve?” Minako had halfheartedly protested. “I don’t know if it’s legal to put someone of your age in the front seat”), and so Yuuri was left squeezed in the back next to Viktor. Makkachin immediately claimed on of the window seats. Viktor had immediately and unconsciously insinuated his foot against Yuuri’s calf and his hips squished into Yuuri’s whenever they rounded a corner.

When they arrive at Yakov’s farm, which is as beautiful and sprawling as Yuuri remembers it, Viktor loops an arm around Yuuri’s waist in a goodbye hug before hopping out of the truck.

“Bye, Yuuri, lovely to meet you, Minako!” He calls, shepherding Yurio, who is demanding In-N-Out, towards his truck, which is very large and very red. Makkachin follows, and maybe assists a little.

“Compensating for something?” Minako snickers.

“Unfortunately, no,” Yuuri mutters.

“Wait, what? Yuuri, you didn’t!”

“No, no, no! He just likes to be naked, I think?”

“Oh my god,” Minako says. “Get in the front seat and tell me everything.”

 

 

Goldfinger is kept at Yakov’s place but not in the main barn, which Yuuri is thankful for. Yakov is gruff, reminding Yuuri of the barn manager at Yuuri’s first working student position. He had spent a lot of time crying in tack rooms and broom closets at that position. If it hadn’t been for Phichit, he might’ve quit and gone home.

“I used to manage this barn,” Viktor admits, rubbing the back of his neck the way Yuuri has realized he does when he feels sheepish. “I think Yakov was pissed that I left so suddenly. Mila is very capable though, and worthy of the responsibility.”

Yurio rolls his eyes and stubs the toe of his boot on the concrete.

It was nice that Yakov still was letting Viktor stay on the small house in the lower part of the property even if he had, in Yakov’s eyes, flaked out a bit. Yuuri supposed that was an advantage to being an up-and-coming star if not an outright star: people forgave you. Plus, the house was probably sitting unused, as Yuuri knew that Mila had an apartment that she shared with Yurio.

“Anyways, I will warm her up and then I will demonstrate the two musical freestyles I have created,” Viktor says, buckling his helmet.

Yurio moves through this barn with familiarity, while Yuuri fumbles with the latches on the stall doors and trips over a step on into the tack room. It reminds Yuuri of the fact that he doesn’t belong here, that this is not his place.

Yuuri ducks out of sight every so often and reminds himself to breath, to think of pork cutlet bowls and warm baths and the feeling of a fuzzy winter coat and anything that makes him feel calm again. He can’t let himself be overtaken by thoughts of his own unworthiness.

“Yuuri, will you hold her?” Viktor says. He’s already halfway in the saddle before Yuuri can take hold of the reins, but Viktor’s request for his help settles Yuuri’s stomach and quiets his thoughts.

There is a small unfenced dirt ring by the barn. Since the lower barn is mostly horses that are not in work, there’s no one using the ring right now, which Yuuri is also grateful for.

Viktor runs through a short, relaxed warmup with Goldfinger. She’s a beautiful mover and seems willing but hot. _I can do that,_ Yuuri thinks. _I know I can ride her well._ Yurio is quiet beside Yuuri, eyes fixed on the mare. His mouth is set firmly, and a chunk of his hair hides his eyes.

Viktor’s cheeks are flushed when he brings Goldfinger to halt in front of Yuuri and Yurio.

“What do you think? Isn’t she sweet?” Viktor pulls his phone out of his boot and taps away at the screen. “Here’s the first arrangement of the  music, I’ll give it to you to listen to you while I ride through it.”

He tosses his phone at Yurio, who dives to catch it.

“Moron,” Yurio mutters, scrubbing at the screen with the hem of his shirt.

“Just press play!” Viktor calls, trotting off.

“Idiot,” Yurio mutters slightly louder. He still presses play.

The music is tinny and faint, but Viktor guides the mare through the freestyle as though he has every beat memorized. In a way, it increases the theatricality, which is very Viktor.

Yurio rolls his eyes.

“On love, agape,” Viktor calls. “A pure love, something almost God-like.”

“God, that’s hard,” Yuuri says. Viktor rides the mare with a tenderness and openness that makes Yuuri’s heart ache, like a parent guiding a child.

“I know,” Yurio mutters.

When Yuuri looks hard and close, though, there is something in the mare that does not give totally, reciprocating the agape. She doesn’t try as hard as she could, doesn’t quite meet Viktor where he is. _Agape. I can do that._ Yuuri thinks. It will be hard, but he can do it.

Viktor completes his halt and salute and scratches the mare on the neck, grinning.

“Yuuri, can you bring me my phone? I’ll cue up the next music.”

Yuuri does as requested, patting Goldfinger as Viktor finds what he’s looking for.

“Thank you, Yuuri,” Viktor says. “Press play when I reach X?”

“Yep!” Yuuri says, making his way back to the side of the rink.

Yurio is standing with his arms crossed.

“This second freestyle uses an arrangement called _On Love: Eros_ ,” Viktor calls, shortening his reins.

He smirks, seemingly right in Yuuri’s direction. “Eros, or sexual love. You must ride with passion! Everyone in the audience must want to be between your legs instead of the horse!”

“Oh my god,” Yuuri says, covering his mouth.

“That one’s mine,” Yurio says.

“If I wasn’t already gay, I would be now,” Yuuri mutters.

Yurio gives a snort.

The mare’s every movement is controlled and capable and flexible. Viktor’s thighs flex and his fingers open and close on the reins fluidly. Yuuri doesn’t think he could ever ride like that. It would come easily to Yurio, with his passion and the way he seemed to fit easily in his skin.

By the time Viktor finishes, both he and Goldfinger are sweating hard. “What do you think?” he says as he lets Goldfinger cool out on a loose rein.

“Amazing!” Yuuri says, trying to sound properly enthusiastic but not too...eager.

“I get Eros, right?” Yurio says.

“No!” Viktor says cheerily.

“What?” Yuuri’s mouth falls open.

“What the fuck?” Yurio shoves his bangs out of his eyes, and scrunches his nose up terrifyingly.

“You will do Agape, Yurio, and Yuuri, you will perform Eros!” Viktor says, pointing at each other them in turn with his whip.

“Viktor!” Yurio protests. “I want Eros!”

“I know!” Viktor says. “But you will be performing Agape. So go forth and find your agape! I will give you a lesson first on her.”

Yurio nods. “Fine.”

“And Yuuri, what do you think of your freestyle?” Viktor tilts his head to the side, eyes almost closed, a sideways smile on his face. It’s a face, Yuuri has come to realize, that accompanies a challenge thrown.

“I…um….it’s really something!” Yuuri says, weakly. Yurio snickers.

“I might change it, somewhat. What do you think you excel in?”

“I think… in rhythm. My flying chances are usually successful. I have difficulties in my canter pirouettes and in maintaining energy, I think…but I know I can improve them!” Yuuri says.

“And why do you think that you face difficulties with impulsion?” Viktor says, walking Goldfinger closer.

“I think...” Yuuri fights the urge to whisper. “I think I lack confidence. I prevent impulsion. They stop being through.”

Viktor walks closer. “My job is to improve your confidence.” He steers Goldfinger until her shoulders line up with Yuuri’s. Viktor looks so high up, his face hard to make out from the sun, but he leans down until his forehead is nearly touching Yuuri’s. His voice is quiet and deep. “It may be, Yuuri, that you have an eros in yourself that no one else is aware of.”

His gloves are hot from the sun when he brushes a finger over Yuuri’s cheekbone. “Can you show me that side of yourself?”

Yuuri’s mouth is dry and filled with arena dust. Viktor casts a shadow that cools him, but his cheeks are still hot. He should nod, or say yes. Or do _something._

“What time will you give me my lesson? I’m hungry as fuck, and I have to ride Leo and Angel still!” Yurio demands.

“Eight tomorrow,” Viktor says, “and Yuuri, you will have a lesson in two days, a Tuesday, I think, on Goldfinger, same time. Until then, there are a few horses in the lower barn are in work that you will ride tomorrow.”

Yuuri nods furiously.

“And Yuuri…your homework is to think about what eros would mean to you.” Viktor points at Yuuri. “Show me on Tuesday.”

 

 

 _I am, probably, the least erotic person in existence._ Yuuri thinks. _Literally, what the hell._

“Minako, help me get sexy!” Yuuri groans. He’s sprawled across her couch, which is currently doubling as his bed, when she gets home, clutching his almost dead 3DS in one hand.

“I don’t know if I’m qualified for that, or if that’s legal,” Minako says, prying off her disgustingly  muddy boots and placing them on a brown paper bag in front of her door.

“I’m not that much of a disaster!” Yuuri says, rolling over. “Or maybe I am.”

“I thought you already had Nikiforov in the bag,” Minako says.

“Shut up-p,” he hisses.

“No, seriously,” Minako says. “Why?”

“Viktor showed us the freestyles we’re going to perform today,” Yuuri says. “And mine is LITERALLY called _On Love: Eros_. That’s literally what it’s called!”

“Yikes,” Minako says.

“And then he told me to find my eros: what eros? I’m twenty three years old! I should be able to display all the eros I want!” Yuuri sinks into his nest of blankets and thinks about disintegrating.

“Is this one of those cases where I should remind you to use your coping skills?” Minako says. “You sound really worried! Just make some shit up, you know?”

“Maybe…I’ve been thinking that the story could be about a handsome playboy who comes to town…” Yuuri stands up on the couch and strikes a pose. “He bewitches all the women of the city! But he has eyes only for the most beautiful!” He points at Minako, who puts her hand delicately over her heart and flutters her eyelashes.

“Despite her better judgement,” Yuuri continues, “she falls for him! They play the game of love, a game that the beautiful lady cannot win.”

Minako traces the path of a tear down her cheek.

“The playboy moves on to the next town,” Yuuri says, jumping off the couch, “casting her aside like on old…like an old glove!”

“I have a nosebleed now,” Minako says dryly. “But the storyline...it’s not really you.”

“I know,” Yuuri says glumly, sinking back into the couch. “I don’t know what to do!”

Minako shrugs. “Move over, I’m sitting down. Why don’t you just copy the emotions you can see on Viktor while he performed the freestyle?”

“I could…but how will I ever surpass Viktor if I’m copying him?” Yuuri blurts out.

Minako covers her mouth with her hands. “O-o-oh!”

“Not like that! I don’t think I’ll ever be as good as him!” Yuuri says.

“Don’t worry about it, Yuuri!” Minako ruffles his hair, one of her many ways to remind him that he is the same age as his older sister and is thus both Older and Wiser than he. “Ambition suits you. Keep it up.”

They eat dinner and watch TV until Minako decides to head to bed. She’s exhausted after showing all week, and Yuuri says he’ll clean up the dishes for her.

He lies awake for a while, staring at the ceiling. The red and green and blue glow of different parts of Minako’s tv, the sound of the walls settling. Minako’s apartment is both familiar and unfamiliar. He had crashed here lots of times after movie marathons, gossip sessions, and anxiety attacks. But he had also grown used to the shape of his room at home in Japan, and Viktor’s semi-frequent presence sleeping on the floor next to him because “your bedroom is nice, Yuuri!”

 _I’ve got to find my eros,_ he thinks, half asleep, before falling into a really nice dream about his homemade ramen recipe.

 

 

When Yuuri arrives at the barn the next morning, he is greeted by a very grumpy Yurio and a very cheerful Viktor.

“Yuuri! Good morning!” Viktor says. “I wrote your name down on the board for Hersey and Rocky. If you need anything, ask Mila!”

“Um, yes!” Yuuri says. “Where are you going?”

“To fucking—“ Yurio starts.

“To find agape!” Viktor says.

“Okay…” Yuri says, watching Yurio try to trip Viktor as they make their way up the aisle.

With much help from Mila, who is red-haired and friendly and remembers Yuuri even though they have only ever met a few times, he locates everything he needs and has two nice rides. Rocky is a four year old bay Oldenberg who has more try than brains. Hersey is a five year old Hanoverian who has, perhaps, the opposite problem: according to Mila, he picks up nasty habits within a few rides that takes weeks to untrain, if they can be untrained at all.

Yuuri has to go into the tack room and practice his breathing for a few minutes after that conversation, but he has dealt with horses like that before. Viktor obviously thinks he is capable of handling the horse, and Yuuri will prove him right.

Yuuri is hosing Hersey down, sweaty but feeling victorious, when Viktor and Yurio return.

“I brought food!” Viktor calls, hopping out of the truck. Makkachin leaps out and streaks around the barnyard for a few minutes before returning to Viktor’s side.

“And he wouldn’t let me eat it in the truck!” Yurio complains, slamming the passenger side door.

“We can’t torture perfect Makkachin like that!” Viktor protests. “Yuuri, do you want to go eat lunch at my place?”

“Hey! Did you get some for me?” Mila calls.

“Of course!” Viktor says. “Yuuri, what do you say?”

“Sure,” Yuuri says.

“Let’s go-o-o!” Yurio says, scrambling into the bed of Viktor’s truck. “Get in, morons!” He offers Yuuri a hand, which Yuuri accepts even though he is convinced Yurio is probably going to let go just to see if he’ll fall.

Surprisingly, Yurio continues yanking him up into the bed of the truck before taking a seat.

“Hey, I want to ride too!” Viktor whines.

“I’ll accept Makkachin,” Yurio says, stretching his arms down for the dog.

“Accept Viktor too,” Mila says. “I’ll drive. Toss me the keys, Vik.”

“Like an angel!” Viktor says, passing Makkachin to Yurio. “Help me up, Yuuri!”

Viktor closes his hands around Yuuri’s and smiles up at him, and Yuuri feels his stomach flip.

“Hurry up!” Yurio says. “I’m starving!”

Yuuri pulls a little harder and Viktor climbs a little faster than either of them anticipated, and they tumble into the truck bed, laughing.

“We’re off!” Mila calls through the open window. The radio starts blaring as the truck starts.

They bump up the graveled road towards Viktor’s house, small in the field below, Yurio dangling his legs out of the back of the bed over the road unfurling behind them. Viktor wraps his hands around Yuuri’s waist and the wind whips through Yuuri’s sweaty helmet hair. He could get used to this. He needs to do the best he can do. He needs to keep this. He is overwhelmed with this: the cool breeze, the feeling of movement, the fact that he might have an in-joke with Mila revolving around a particularly plump barn cat, the fact that Yurio is humming something to himself, the fact that Viktor seems to not just tolerate but perhaps enjoy Yuuri’s presence.

Viktor’s house is mercifully air conditioned. It is small and a bit beat up around the edges but tidy. Viktor has a lot of books and a lot of comfortable chairs and sofas and blankets and pillows and various cool rocks in a bowl on his table. Yuuri picks one up before he thinks about it.

“I found that at the beach!” Viktor says, setting a bag of Chinese takeout containers on the table.

“Oh my god,” Mila says. “You’re so dorky.”

Yurio cackles and launches himself at one of the sofas, stretching and staring at the ceiling for a minute before getting up and sliding into the one of the mismatched kitchen chairs around the table. “Be nice to him, though,” he says, then casts a baleful glare at Viktor. “Or he might not let you eat any of his food.”

“True,” Viktor says. “Maybe Yuuri’s the only one I’ll buy lunch for, since he’s the only one that’s nice to me!”

“Shut up! Give me my lo mein! Please!” Yurio says.

Once Yuuri has put himself into a food coma with objectively disgusting “noodles,” his mind returns to his problem: eros. Viktor’s polo is unbuttoned like, halfway to his navel, taking up most of Yuuri’s line of sight from Yuuri’s position with his head on the damn table. The rest of his vision is occupied by another container of lo mein, which Yuuri, if he’s being entirely honest, would still really, really like to eat.

 _Eros…it prevents you from thinking clearly,_ Yuuri thinks. _Well, I sure can’t think clearly right now._

_If only I was home right now, eating my mom’s noodles...and..._

“Wait!” Yuuri stands up so fast that he knocks his knees on the edge of the table, sending Yurio’s head flying up from its table-resting-position and slamming back down with a thunk.

“Hey!” Yurio says.

“My eros! It’s katsudon!”

Everyone is quiet for a minute. Viktor pauses mid fried-rice-to-mouth.

“Katsudon…Katsuki!” Yurio cackles. “Yuuri Katsudon!”

“Yurio!” Mila groans.

“I like it,” VIktor says finally, decisive. “It’s unique and it’s cute. I guess you’re ready for your lesson tomorrow!”

 

 

The next morning, Viktor looks like hell.

“I heard he was drinking,” Yurio says. “Which isn’t like him, don’t worry, katsudon.”

“Are you going to…watch?” Yuuri says.

Yurio shrugs. “I don’t have anything better to do.”

Yuuri’s already nervous when he begins his lesson, but he keeps his mind on pork cutlet bowls, going through the steps of the recipe.

“I won’t teach you anything new right now,” Viktor calls, considering with his finger on the side of his chin. “We’ll work just a little on fixing your canter pirouettes, for now let’s just work on improving your strengths. I talked about this with Yurio yesterday, but I’ll chance the freestyles slightly so we can start showing them at fourth level.”

“Okay,” Yuuri calls. The mare is hotter than Fish, and greener, tending to get heavy in his hands.

“Think of entangling the egg!” Viktor calls when Yuuri begins to grow tense and nervous. “You are holding a hot bowl, don’t hold too tight!”

When Yuuri relaxes and rides her forward, she softens and meets him. By the end of the ride, sweat is dripping from Yuuri’s nose, and he is hopelessly in love.

“Sweet, sweet mare!” He coos, rubbing her neck, her sweat foaming under his hands. “Oh, you perfect, hardworking girl.”

“Wonderful job, Yuuri,” Viktor says. “This time Thursday? Hershey and Rocky tomorrow?”

“Oh, yes,” Yuuri says, before quickly returning to lavishing the mare with sweetness.

 

 

The time passes quickly. He works out with Yurio, focusing on cardio and strengthening his core. He takes Minako’s dog for runs. And he rides, and longs for another ride on Goldfinger. The mare is something special, and so sweet that he soon has a running list of pet names.

“Gross,” Yurio says, whenever he catches Yuuri babbling “angel mouse” and “candy heart” and “sweet bean” at her, even though he’s taken to calling her “kitty cat.”

He ends up eating dinner and sitting around at the barn a lot with Yurio as well, watching Yurio’s lessons.

“For mare development” Minako suggests. Yuuri agrees.

Yurio’s struggling with finding a way to express agape, his frustrations with the mare’s occasional pushiness making their way into his riding.

“If Viktor drags me on one more nature hike or makes me look at one more picture of a puppy…” Yurio sighs over a spit-splattered double bridle.

Yuuri laughs, hanging his own dirty bridle on a hook. “See, I know you all make fun of me, but my katsudon could double as inspiration for eros or agape. In addition to being just a sexy, sexy food, it always reminds me of home and my family.”

Yurio looks down at his bridle for a second, twining the rag he was using to wipe it down around his finger. He looks vulnerable and very, very young.

Yuuri wonders what he is thinking about.

“Here, katsudon. Use this if you want, I’ve finished,” he mutters, shoving the rag at Yuuri before taking off for the tack room.

The next time Yuuri watches Yurio ride the mare, there is a change in him: a tenderness, and patience that had not been present before.

“Hey, katsudon,” Yurio says later that day, as Yuuri sweeps the mats in the grooming stall. “Do you want me to help you with your canter pirouettes?”

“S—sure! That would be fantastic!” Yuuri says, trying not to appear too surprised.

“What’s up?” Viktor says, poking his head into the stall.

“Nothing!” Yuuri says hastily, nearly dropping the broom.

“He forgot to sweep the mats yesterday and I’m yelling at him,” Yurio says, slipping out of the stall and down the aisle.

“Okay,” Viktor shrugs. “Anyone want chicken for dinner?”

 

 

Yurio will be showing first, with Yuuri showing a week after. They’d done rock, paper, scissors, with Yurio unluckily being pummeled within two rounds.

Or maybe not so unluckily, Yuuri thinks glumly, as they load Goldfinger into the trailer the morning of the show.

Yurio’s showing later in the day, which is fortunate, but also means there’s plenty of time to stand around. It always makes Yuuri a nervous wreck, but Yurio seems calm, slouching in the backseat of the golf cart that Viktor somehow sweet-talks someone into lending him because he is like kryptonite for old-dressage-ladies, wolfing down about three hotdogs from the concession stand the barn has set up and then taking a nap on top of his tack trunk.

His warm-up is fluid and lovely, with none of the warring with the mare that had been present in many of his practices.

There are mostly lower levels at this show, with Yurio as one of only two people to perform a musical freestyle. People crowd around the ring to watch, taking pictures and videos.

From the second Yurio straightens from his salute, Yuuri knows this performance will be different from anything he has seen in practice. He guides the mare as though holding the hand of a child, his movements careful and correct. The people watching are silent. As the freestyle continues, he seems to grow tired, loses his focus for a second. He struggles to come smoothly back from his extended canter, but he recovers quickly and does not lose his head. God, Yuuri had been a nervous wreck when he was eighteen, he had not been able to recover from even small mistakes like that smoothly.

Yurio’s chest is heaving by the time he completes his final salute. He loosens the mare’s reins and thumps her shoulders and neck in praise, smiling a small unsure smile.

He is quiet as they prepare to load up and head back to the farm, brushing off Viktor’s congratulations on his score of 61.2 percent.

Yuuri’s nerves begin, listening to Viktor and Yurio discuss Yurio’s scores on the way back.

In one week, perhaps, Yuuri will be heading back to Japan, or looking for a horse to ride somewhere here.

He lies on Minako’s couch for a long time after she goes to bed, trying to fall asleep and aimlessly scrolling through twitter.

DAILY VIKTOR NIKIFOROV!

@dailyviktornikiforov

Viktor’s World Cup 2015 Victory Gallop!

Yuuri squints blearily at the screen. Of course he has seen this photo before. He used to have a photo of it hanging on his wall. But tonight, through the haze of exhaustion, it feels as though Yuuri is seeing it for the first time. Viktor is helmetless and long-haired, hair French braided and pressed against the front of his shoulder from speed. This combined with the cut of his coat gives him an androgynous appearance, the illusion of hips, his fine nose and gleeful, almost pixie grin.

He jolts fully awake. “Minako!”

 

 

Yuuri is the first to arrive at the barn the next weekend. It’s four, and they don’t need to leave until six, but he needs space to think with enough distractions to prevent him from getting lost thinking. When he’d been a kid, he would’ve gone to Castle Farms, where Minako might’ve asked him to lunge or clean tack or muck stalls or, on particularly lucky days, ride. Even though driving to this barn isn’t familiar the way the walk to Castle Farms might be, it’s still muscle memory to turn to the barn, to work.

The sun hasn’t risen and won’t for a few hours, but the sky’s turned light around the edges. He parks the shitty car Phichit hooked him up with through a friend-of-a-friend in the field by the dressage arena and scrolls through Instagram for a few minutes. Then he looks at the arena and visualizes his test.

 _Today, I’ll surprise Viktor as much as he has already surprised me,_ he thinks, squeezing his eyes shut, seeing Goldfinger behind his eyelids. He owes it not just to himself, but to the mare and to Viktor to show the performance he knows he is capable of.

He opens his eyes when his phone vibrates in his hands. It’s Viktor

_Coach Viktor to You: Is that your car up by the ring?_

Yuuri peers down towards the house. Sure enough, light glows inside a few of the windows, gold and hot.

_Oh yeah! Just needed some space, haha_

_Coach Viktor to You: Do you want to come down and get some coffee?? I was just making some!!_

Coffee emoji, smiley face emoji, pink sparkling heart emoji.

_Sure!_

Viktor answers the door in a stage of semi-dishevelment that makes Yuuri pray he doesn’t blush. His hair is sticking up in the back, and he has his socks in one hand (pink) and his belt in the other. His shirt is only half-tucked in.

It’s almost worse than if he had just been naked, which Yuuri is very used to from him.

“Hey! Come on in! I think I have a banana around here somewhere, and maybe muffins? Anyways, the coffee’s almost ready!”

Viktor plops onto one of the couches and starts pulling on his socks (pink, the slick knee-high ones that keep tall boots from getting stuck) and threading his belt through his belt loops.

Yuuri busies himself looking through cabinets for the promised banana, which he does locate, along with  a blueberry muffin and a mug to pour his coffee into.

“I’m not much of a host this morning, am I? Sorry, I should’ve showed you where the mugs were!” Viktor says, coming up behind Yuuri and placing a steadying hand on Yuuri’s waist (“steadying”) as Yuuri takes one off the shelf.

“That’s okay,” Yuuri says. “Pour me some, just a little creamer, if you have it.”

Viktor snorts out a surprised laugh before doing a little half-bow. “Of course!” He hands the mug to Yuuri with a flourish. “So strong…you’re the black coffee type!”

Yuuri tries not to freak out. He knows he is blushing now. Life is hell: he is bossing Viktor Nikiforov, Olympian dressage rider, around. And said Olympic dressage rider also has a really broad idea of what a “little” creamer is. Yuuri’s pretty sure Viktor is definitely the let’s-have-a-little-coffee-with-my-cream-and-sugar type. Yuuri quickly covers his face up by taking a big sip from the mug, which has horse emoji next to the word YOU and a unicorn emoji next to the word ME on the side.

“Do you usually like to have time alone before shows?” Viktor says as they lean against the kitchen counters and caffeinate themselves.

“I guess I like to have time alone a lot of the time,” Yuuri says. It’s hard to talk to Viktor still, especially with Viktor in front of him, looking at him with great focus. He gulps the last of his coffee and busies himself putting the mug in the sink.

“You’ve been working very hard, Yuuri,” Viktor says. He sounds like he is choosing the words carefully. It’s very different from his normal phrases, which often sound impulsive and semi-blurted. “And you’ve been working well.”

He doesn’t move to touch Yuuri, and Yuuri knows he looks tense right now, neck bowed, elbows tucked in. Maybe he’s afraid of startling Yuuri. Does he think what to say to make Yuuri feel better, less anxious, more confident, over dinner in this kitchen? Lying in bed at night?

Yuuri feels a lump in his throat. The thought of Viktor considering aspects of him besides the way he looks on a horse feels itchy and strange and close.

“Thank you for the coffee,” Yuuri says.

“I guess we should go see to the mare,” Viktor says.

They look at each other and smile, briefly, before they go their separate ways: Yuuri to his boots and Viktor back to his bedroom (“to comb my hair!” he says, making a face at his reflection in the window over the sink).

 

 

“You forgot I was coming, didn’t you,” Yurio says.

Viktor presses his mouth together in a flat line and pulls down one of the corners, which Yuuri has learned is his own wordless form of “yikes.” “Sorry?” He offers.

“I’ll buy my own damn donut next time!” Yurio says.

“I knew you were coming. I forgot to count you when we were getting donuts,” Viktor says.

“Jerk!” Yurio hisses.

“You weren’t in the truck at the time!”

“Massive fucking jerk!”

“Are they dumb, Goldfinger?” Yuuri whispers in the mare’s ear. “Yes. They’re dumb.”

He’s not showing until late. Just like last weekend, he is one of only a few musical freestyles at this show. He grazes the mare, fixes a few braids that had been loosened in the trailer, slaps a coat of oil on his tack, and sweeps the area around their stall until he would not be opposed to eating off it.

“Sit down! Wow, I wish I had you as my groom!” Viktor says, lounging in front of Goldfinger’s stall in a purple folding chair with his feet on the edge of the seat so Yuuri can sweep underneath him. “I’d be so clean, all the time.” Viktor pats the seat of the matching chair which sits empty next to him.

“Only if he was nervous all the time,” Yurio says from his own leopard print chair. “You better not get that broom anywhere near me!”

Viktor signs. “I suppose we should start tacking up. The warm-up ring looks pretty quiet right now.”

Yuuri nods, trying to remember to breath, trying to remember to stay relaxed: toes to calves to thighs to stomach to back to shoulders to neck to temples. “Okay.”

The warm-up goes smoothly.

“Don’t stress the things that are difficult,” Viktor calls, and then softer when Yuuri goes by, “check for tension in yourself and when you find it, try something you know you can do.”

It works well: Yuuri knows that when he becomes nervous and tense he loses his main assets, which are his sense of rhythm and musicality, the almost dance-like quality of gaits. However, by the end of the warm-up as he is walking on a loose rein and waiting for his ride, he feels the world begin to narrow. His limbs buzz, his fingers shake. The air seems thin and dry.

 _I want to win,_ Yuuri thinks. _I want this mare. I want Viktor as my coach. I want…_

“Yuuri,” Viktor says across the ring. Even though it is not loud, his voice cuts through Yuuri’s thoughts.

Yuuri guides the mare over to the side of the ring.

“It’s almost your turn,” Viktor says, smiling up at him. Yuuri still feels the vibration through his body, like he can feel oxygen traveling from his heart to his fingertips, but it begins to feel like excitement.

And this is a feeling Yuuri knows, a feeling that’s old but a feeling that’s muscle memory.

“Viktor…This mare and I are going to be the tastiest bowl of katsudon ever. I promise.”

Yuuri can hear the words he says, but he can’t feel himself creating them before he speaks. They pour out, and Viktor looks up at him still, eyes wide but solemn.

“Please…please promise you’ll watch me!” he says, and he can’t help it, reaching down to curl a hand around Viktor’s neck.

“Of course,” Viktor says, wrapping one of his hands around Yuuri’s calf. “I love katsudon.”

A lady with a clipboard and a nametag that says DASC Volunteer: DEB calls out, “Number Forty-Four! You’re up next! Are you in the warmup ring?”

“Right here!” Yuuri calls back.

 _You can do this,_ he thinks, as he gathers his reins.

 _You can do this,_ he thinks as he halts and salutes at x.

 _We can do this, mare,_ he thinks as his music begins.

He remembers his face after Minako had applied eyeliner and lipstick at his request, a few nights prior. He’d felt flirty, cute, bewitching.

He holds that feeling now. He isn’t a playboy, but an enchanter. Even the mare’s walk is passionate and seductive as a selkie’s.

He knows that they will flub one of their flying lead changes seconds before they flub it.

 _It’s okay. A mistake is not enough for us to lose our charms!_ He can’t tense up now, and he consciously tries to remain relaxed. The canter pirouettes are still to come.

He has impulsion, the mare is willing and between him. The pirouettes seem to glide by much smoother than they ever had in the past, the mare sitting down on her haunches, Yuuri feeling the relaxation in her topline in his hands. She has only one moment of tension, but she does not fall out of the canter or fall on the forehand.

 _Viktor, I hope you are watching now,_ Yuuri thinks, and when he completes his final salute he searches for Viktor. He is standing right by the gate, and Yuuri can tell from the shine in his eyes that he saw every minute.

“Yuuri! That was the tastiest pork cutlet bowl I’ve ever seen!” Viktor grabs his knee and grins.

“Thank you,” Yuuri says, and he can’t help but smile back.

“But can I just say something? What was with your flying lead change! You’ve always done excellent flying lead changes before with her! I know you and Yurio have been working on canter pirouettes in secret, but why did you have to sacrifice your beautiful flying lead changes?”

Yuuri sways perilously back and forth on Goldfinger’s back as if threatening to keel over.

“Yuuri, no!” Viktor laughs, gripping his knee tighter.

“Hey, guys, have you seen Yurio?” Mila says.

“No…” Viktor frowns. “He was right here beside me.”

His frown quirks to the side as a phone begins buzzing in one of his pockets. “Yuuri, I think it’s yours,” Viktor says, patting himself down until he locates Yuuri’s phone. “I put mine on silent.”

“Can you pass it to me?” Yuuri says. “Thanks.”

_Russian Punk: congrats_

_me n leo will beat you at developing horse though_

Yuuri whips off his gloves to text back.

_aren’t you going to stick around to see the scores???_

_Russian Punk: lol why the fck would i_

_i know that you’re going to get a higher score_

_unless the judge is fking blind_

_im going to keep going so dont get fuking comfortable...see you at developing horse_

By the time they get Goldfinger settled in with hay, lips covered with apple foam, Yuuri’s almost forgotten that he doesn’t have his score yet.

“Oh my god,” he groans, as he and Viktor search for the barn office where scores are being tabulated.

“You did the forth level musical freestyle, right?” One of the ladies says. “Your score’s right there!”

Viktor swoops it up and passes it to Yuuri, then wraps an arm around him and squeezes his bicep.

“Oh my god,” Yuuri mutters.

“62.3!” Viktor whoops. “What an excellent score!”

“We’re going to Developing Horse!” Yuuri calls, thrusting his score sheet in the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a brief note on dressage scoring: anything over a 50 is pretty good tbh, and 8 is like WOW and like if you're getting nines at the grand prix level then you're going to be super well known even among non dressage people like in this world some 12 year old is wrestling her horse's head down for three steps and saying LOOK IM PRACTICALLY VIKTOR NIKIFOROV


	4. Like Yourself...And Prepare for the Prix St. George Test!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much again to elsa @roguish for betaing!!! also i am fudging dressage shows and qualifications here still because im just here to have a good gay time!!

Yuuri wakes up to the usual aches and pains that come with sleeping on a couch the next morning. He rolls over, stretches, and freezes.

There’s warm mid-morning sun streaming through the windows.

“Oh no-o-o,” he chants, checking his phone. It’s nearly eight o clock.

“Oh my god!” He says, and jumps up so quick he nearly falls over.

“I am so, so, so sorry,” Yuuri says when he arrives at the barn. “I overslept a bit but I was in traffic for almost two hours--”

“Usually only airplanes leave me waiting this long,” Viktor says, but he’s smiling, his heedless trainer smile. “Ready to get to work!”

“Of course!” Yuuri says, snapping an only half-joking salute. Yesterday still feels like a dream. Training under Viktor Nikiforov on his most promising horse seems like something his younger self would’ve written: some thinly veiled fanfiction in which a god comes down and sees...whatever it is he sees in Yuuri.

Viktor writes LESSON 8:00 under Goldfinger’s name on the lesson board three days a week and his and Yuuri’s name under the other four days. He also writes Yuuri in for Hersey and Rocky four days a week.

“Looks good?” Viktor says.

“Looks great,” Yuuri says. It’s a pretty normal training schedule. Three lessons a week will add up quick, though. He doesn’t know how he’ll pay the training fees. He’d been hoping for a sponsorship at the beginning of last season, but by the end...well, by the end he’d realized that there was no way that was going to happen. He’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it, he supposes. He puts it out of his mind: that Viktor would like him to continue riding Hersey and Rocky settles in his chest like an earned compliment and calms his thoughts.

“Good!”  Viktor says, grinning, and draws a little pink heart next to Goldfinger’s name.

“I think I’ll just hack her today,” Yuuri says. A relaxing walk around the property will be a good mental and physical break for her.

“Sounds good,” Viktor says. “I was going to take the four-year-old out today at about twelve, do you want to come with? I don’t think he’ll do well alone, it seems to make him slighty...agitated.”

“Of course,” Yuuri says.

 

The four-year-old, a grey Oldenberg named Marvel, seems to be slightly agitated by everything.

“Brave bo-oy,” Viktor coos when they make it by a particularly terrifying clump of grass. But he seems willing to follow Goldfinger, and Goldfinger is unperturbed by most things, and so eventually he settles.

The sun is hot at high noon, the air is quiet. The mountains rise up around the four of them like they’re cupped in a pair of hands, the way Yuuri used to hold frogs and caterpillars when he was little.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says. “Would you by any chance want to stay at the house? It’s a lot closer, you wouldn’t have to worry about traffic.”

Goldfinger’s bobbing her head, walk big and swingy. Yuuri looks ahead, in between her ears, and says, “That...that would be great. If you don’t mind. It’s fine, really, usually, if I leave early, I just woke up late today...”

“I wouldn’t mind at all,” Viktor says.

“I don’t have much stuff,” Yuuri says.

“I have lots of room,” Viktor says. “Do you think this guy is ready to try a trot? It’s always flat and nice around the corner.”

Yuuri considers. “Only if Goldfinger trots with him,” he says.

“Of course,” Viktor says.

 

“Whatever you do, don’t sacrifice the impulsion!” Viktor calls. “Leg. Leg. Leg. Don’t look down!”

 _Oh god, I’m looking down again,_ Yuuri thinks. _Oh my god, I know not to do that, why am I doing that..._

“You have to let go of the outside rein a bit for her to be able to bend, right? And don’t clench with either of your hands so much,” Viktor calls.

Yuuri realizes that he’s gripping the reins so hard that he can feel the corners of his nails through his summer gloves.

“Try a halt, reorganize,” Viktor says. “Wait a second, I’m going to come over.”

Yuuri’s face is already red from heat and exertion and growing nerves. He still feels as though it grows redder with shame. He needs to do better.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, “do you know why I wanted to become your coach?” He reaches up, then, puts a one hand on Yuuri’s thigh and the other on Yuuri’s hand.

“Um,” Yuuri says.

“At your best, you ride like you are making music,” Viktor says. He looks at Yuuri through his eyelashes, voice low. “When you are calm, you harmonize with the horse.” He worms his fingers under Yuuri’s. “Loosen your hand, open it all the way and stretch the muscles before you pick up the reins again,” Viktor says. “Take your feet out of the stirrups, stretch them towards the ground. This horse has music in her, too. Ever since I saw the way she moved as a two year old, I knew she had potential. She is challenging, but she will maximize your potential and play up  your strengths.”

He slides both hands under Yuuri’s thigh and pulls it back and down.

Yuuri thinks very hard about the smell of water buckets filled with hay in the summer and sitting jouncy nasty pony trots and sheath cleaning.

“Your performance of the freestyle only confirms that!” Viktor continues. “Why did your previous coach have you ride that big Hanoverian? What was his name?”

“Um, Fish?” Yuuri says.

“Hmm. I’d like you to call your old trainer after your lesson. But now that you’re loosened up, let’s end on a good note. We’ll work on the extended canter and then call it a day.”

“Yuuri?” Celestino says, picking up after just a few rings. “Ciao, ciao, it’s been a while!”

“Um, yeah, it’s been a while,” Yuuri says, trying and failing to not sound guilty.

“I heard you’re training with Viktor now?”

“Uh, yes...sorry,” Yuuri says, rocking back and forth a little.

“Why are you apologizing?” Celestino says.

“Ciao, ciao!” Viktor cuts in, interrupting Yuuri’s shame-spiral. “This is Viktor.”

“Ah, Viktor,” Celestino says. “Hello. Seems odd that you’d have someone else begin training your mare, especially when she’s already showing, what, fourth level?”

Viktor shrugs. “Maybe! I’ve been wondering...why did Yuuri still ride Fish?”

“Huh,” Celestino says. “Although I was the one who suggested that Yuuri train on Fish, he could have found another horse to train with at my place if he would’ve liked. He did try riding a four year old I had, but I wasn’t sure if the horse showed much promise, and Yuuri seemed happy to go back to Fish. I didn’t think that Yuuri and Fish were the best match, but Yuuri lacked confidence and seemed happy to continue working with Fish. I tried to encourage him to accept that he was more skilled and capable than he thought, but you know what they say about leading a horse to water...”

“Thanks, Celestino,” Viktor says.

Yuuri feels rather called-out, but he supposes it’s true. He’d loved Fish, but he already feels as if he has learned more from Goldfinger in the past few months than from Fish for at least several years before he stopped riding him. “Celestino,” Yuuri says. “I’m going to redeem myself this season.”

Celestino is quiet for a second. When he talks, he sounds the way he does when he smiles. “That’s what I wanted to hear from you at the end of last season, Yuuri.”

When Yuuri hangs up, he is relieved. He’d always meant to call Celestino, but he’d always lost his nerve. Celestino had taught him a lot, and Yuuri knows he wouldn’t be able to be where he is now without him. To know that Celestino is, in a way, proud of him for continuing, even under a different trainer, soothes a small spike of anxiety that Yuuri hadn’t been aware he’d been carrying.

 

Minako helps Yuuri pack his things that night. He’s spread out over her apartment more than he’d thought he would be, with his favorite breeches accidentally tossed in her hamper, a bag of peppermints on her counter, a pair of his spurs sitting on the table by the door.

“I’m glad you talked to him,” Minako says. “You should’ve earlier, but it’s good that you did.”

“I was just glad he wasn’t angry,” Yuuri says. “You’re right, he’s taught me a lot and it was disrespectful to not thank him as I should’ve.”

“I didn’t think he would be angry,” Minako says. “You thanked him before you left. And there were many choices you could’ve made in your situation, but none of them were bad. Just different.”

Yuuri folds his old Castle Farm jacket carefully and places it in the box. He appreciates Minako’s wisdom, and he’ll miss not seeing her nightly. They mostly talk about horses, but when Yuuri does speak about his thoughts, Minako treats him with respect and never mocks him, no matter how much his worries might not make sense sometimes.

“In a way,” Yuuri says that evening, “it was embarrassing for Viktor to hear about my past failures.” He doesn’t know how to say that in a way, it also feels good. Like he no longer has to fear Viktor finding him out, realizing he’s incompetent, an imposter. Someone not worth Viktor’s time, not worth the mare’s potential. He doesn’t know how to say it, but he feels like he doesn’t need to.

Minako nods, and hmms, and says, “better check under the couch.”

Sure enough, he finds his 3DS pen and the black stallion that is the mainstay of his childhood Breyer horse collection, the rest of which lives in his bedroom in Japan.

“You’re not mad that I’m moving out?” Yuuri says, for probably the thousandth time that night.

Minako snorts. “Please. Now I can actually sit on my couch, maybe. Besides,” she continues. “You’re not nineteen anymore, I can’t believe you can still sleep on a couch…”

“I’m only twenty-three, Minako!”

“A baby,” she says, and tousles his hair.

  


Viktor’s house does have lots of room. Yuuri’s pretty sure Viktor hasn’t set foot in the spare bedroom since they got back from Japan.

“I was going to dust in here,” Viktor says ruefully, when setting Yuuri’s bootbag down in the corner results in a puff of dust (Viktor had perfected the art of taking the lightest bag or box he could find a long time ago, Yuuri suspected).

“No, no, no, that’s fine!” Yuuri says.

 

Living with Viktor is nice. He forgets any vegetables he gets in the refrigerator drawers, drinks tea the Russian way, with jam, and stretches on the big soft rug on the living room floor every night and watches pirated J-dramas, parroting the phrases at Yuuri and twisting his tongue around Yuuri’s corrections. He sometimes abandons the top forty for folk music or Fleetwood Mac or Russian pop, and he admires himself mirrors and windows a lot.

Saturday nights, he always spreads out his daily planner on the kitchen table and writes out everything he has planned for the next week and creates a checklist of things he has to do.

“I _try_ to not be a flake,” he says. “Hack at twelve on Sunday again, right?”

Yuuri looks up from spreading peanut butter on toast. “Oh! That would be great, actually…” He’d been planning on giving her a relaxing day on Sunday anyways. There’s a little light spot in his chest that flares up when Viktor chooses to spend time with him.

“Let’s make it a weekly thing, yeah?” Viktor says, leaning over the planner ad scribbling.

Yuuri just nods, and Viktor looks up at him before flipping through pages, presumably booking Sunday at twelve for the next few weeks.

It turns out that Sundays become Viktor’s day to slouch around the house until nine, usually with his shirt off. Since Yuuri doesn’t have Hersey or Rocky on that day, and since both Phichit and Minako are usually occupied with shows, he, too, slouches around. Viktor cooks (aka narrowly escapes burning) something. He brushes Makkachin with the most careful attention. Yuuri is attempting to teach him how to play video games, but he is truly awful.

“I like games where you can date someone,” Viktor says, and tries to romance every character in Dragon Age, making Yuuri play through all the fights.

He’ll catch a ride with Viktor to the barn, then, and they’ll tack up together, while Mila teases them about being lazy.

The four-year-old is growing braver, and Yuuri is too. While he still usually retreats to his room upon returning from the barn, he feels less and less like an intruder in Viktor’s house, choosing to venture out into the common areas and spend time with Viktor even after frustrating rides. He even Skypes with his family in the living room because Viktor seems to enjoy talking with Yuuri’s family, trying to impress them with his extremely broken Japanese. So when they are hosing down after their ride, the horse’s coats warm from the sun, and Viktor asks if Yuuri wants to go to the beach, Yuuri hardly even hesitates before he says yes.

 

“I don’t really know why I bothered cleaning him this morning,” Viktor says when Makkachin bolts out of the waves back to them, dripping saltwater and trailing seaweed.

Yuuri reaches down to pet Makkachin anyways. “A perfect boy.”

“True,” Viktor says.

They end up sitting on the a rock, looking out over the sea. They’re quiet for a while, Makkachin lying in the sand and breathing loud and slow.

“Oh! Seagulls,” Viktor says, as a flock swoops, screeching, overhead.

“Black-tailed gulls,” Yuuri says.

“Whenever I go to the beach,” Viktor says, “I remember the gulls in St. Petersberg, when I was young. I guess I never thought I’d leave, so I barely noticed them. Does that ever happen to you?”

Yuuri sneaks a glance at Viktor, who is still looking out over the water, before looking back at his hands clasped together over his knees. “Back when I was a working student,” he says. “There was this girl...she was really pushy and friendly with me. One of the other working students got an accident.” Viktor hums, listening, and Yuuri goes on. “It was bad, the horse fell on her. They were worried that she’d broken her back. I was really worried for her. The really friendly girl was waiting with me in the hospital, and she tried to hug me. I guess I seemed pretty torn up. She was just trying to comfort me, but I pushed her away. I didn’t really even think about it.”

“Wow. Why?” Viktor says.

“I didn’t like…I didn’t like that she could tell I was unsettled. I felt as though she was intruding on my feelings, and I couldn’t stand it. I guess...she hugged me like she thought I was fragile. My family, and Minako, and the Nishigoris never treated me like that. They remind me to use my coping skills, sometimes, but they don’t treat me as though I’m weak. They didn’t try to fix me. They just had faith that I could grow as a person, you know?”

“They’re right...Yuuri, you’re not weak. I am glad you know that your family doesn’t think that about you. But no one else does either.”

They’re quiet for a second, looking out over the water. It’s getting late, and the September sun is weak enough that Yuuri is glad he has his hoodie on. He can’t believe it’s been six month since the ending of the last show season, but it also feels years away, distant as the point where the horizon converges with the water.

“What do you want me to be to you?” Viktor says. “A father figure?”

“No,” Yuuri says.

“A brother, then? A friend?” They don’t look at each other. The space between them is quiet and filled with something stirring like sand in a wave.

“Then your boyfriend, I guess,” Viktor says, almost casual.”I can try my best.”

Yuuri leaps to his feet like the wave just broke over his head. “No, no, no, no, no! I want you to stay who you are, Viktor!” He hears himself from far away, like he’s underwater, but he finds that everything he’s saying is true. Viktor looks up at him, hair falling soft and fine over one eye.

Yuuri says, “I know I can be distant. I hoped that you wouldn’t see my shortcomings. But I’ll make it up to you with my riding! I won’t fail the mare.”

Viktor’s eyes flick down. Yuuri wonders if he’s said too much again, if he’s pushed Viktor away, but when Viktor looks back at Yuuri, he’s smiling. The wind blows his hair back, and he looks Yuuri in both eyes firmly, the way he does when he’s making a promise. Viktor holds out a hand and says, “I won’t make it easy on you, then. That’s how I’ll show my love.

Yuuri takes his hand and pulls him to his feet. He doesn’t want to let go. It feels good to hold Viktor’s hand, even though their fingers are both gritty with sand. They stand for a while, the wind sweeping away the fear that had spiked through Yuuri. The ocean beyond them is very beautiful, but as long as Viktor keeps looking at Yuuri like he doesn’t care to see anyone else, Yuuri doesn’t want to look away.

They don’t say a lot on the drive back, but they don’t need to. The feeling of relief is cool like the breeze blowing into the windows, light like the songs on the radio.

Maybe he’s just training himself the way he might help a horse learn to take the bit by covering it in maple syrup. Maybe that’s not a bad thing. He can’t help but think, _I shouldn’t be afraid to open up._

Yuuri looks over at Viktor, drumming on the steering wheel, humming the words he can’t remember, thinks, _when I open up, he meets me where I am._

 

“I want to stop riding like I’m showing Fourth level,” Yuuri says on the way to the barn the next morning. “I want to start riding like I’m going to show Prix St. George.”

Viktor looks at him, surprise slowing sliding out of his smile and replaced by something that Yuuri can’t name. Not pride, not approval. It looks a lot like the look he gives Yuuri whenever Yuuri takes his hand.

“Okay,” Viktor says.

Yuuri knows from the moment he begins his lesson that day that it will probably be the most difficult lesson of his life. He’s not wrong--Viktor asks for more and doesn’t allow Yuuri to let up: more suppleness, more impulsion; pat the horse, kick the rider. But by the time Viktor says, “Long rein and relax!” Yuuri feels like he could hop a 3’6” fence in a single bound. He knows that in a couple seconds the tiredness will hit and his energy level will be downgraded to “kill dead things.” At least it will when Viktor stops smiling up at him, sleepy from the sun. It’s so different from his Viktor Nikiforov, World Record Holder smile or his Buttering-Up-Brutal-Honesty smile or his Look-At-My-Cheekbones-Are-You-Charmed-yet smile. It looks like an airy clean-swept barn, it looks like a hayfield right before harvest, it looks like fireflies in a pasture.

“I feel like I could do it again,” Yuuri says.

“The mare doesn’t...she does look like she could do half of it again, maybe. Both of you have good stamina.” Viktor looks away, swiping dust off his dark breeches. There’s a swirl on the top of his head that Yuuri hasn’t noticed before. It could be a cowlick, maybe. Yuuri presses his finger to it as he’d press his finger to a mysterious lump on a horse’s neck. The hair is thinning there, leaving a small empty spot on Viktor’s scalp.

Viktor stills for a second, before clutching the top of his head and groaning. “Yuuri,” he says plaintively, sinking and slithering towards the ground. “It is getting that thin?”

The mare widens her eyes, showing the whites, and rocks back.

“Viktor! I’m sorry for breaking your heart, but: you monster! You’re scaring her! How could you!” Yuuri says, poking Viktor’s shoulder with the end of his whip.

“I can’t go on,” Viktor says. “You’ve wounded me deeply.”

“Fine, fine, fine, your hair’s extremely thick and shiny! I’m so sorry!” Yuuri says.

Viktor scrambles to his feet and rubs the mare’s neck. “I’m going to take away your whip if you’re going to be so mean to me,” he threatens.

“I said it was shiny!” Yuuri says.

Viktor turns and juts out his hip, flashing his flirtiest grin.

Between his increasing level of comfort with Viktor and skill with Goldfinger and in-jokes with Mila, the barn begins to feel worn-in as an old shirt, the way Castle Farms had always felt. Yuuri had woken up excited to go the barn as a kid, had always begun wondering when he’d get to ride again right after finishing a ride. He’d thought that maybe he’d never feel that way again, but more and more that seems impossible.

It isn’t until he’s lying in bed, watching Mila’s Snapchat story, that something clicks. It’s a video of Viktor and him spraying each other with the hose in the washrack. Yuuri’s glasses are dripping water and Viktor’s hair is plastered to his forehead. Viktor clutches a crosstie with both hands, bent double laughing, Goldfinger is standing with a hoof cocked, giving them a powerful mare glare, and Yuuri is beaming, a wide smile that Yuuri can’t recognize on himself. He looks open. He looks like someone sitting on their kitchen countertop, like someone placing their keys on a familiar hook without even thinking about it. Mila’s caption reads “smh @ these fools!!” followed by a string of emojis.

When Yuuri rides, he thinks more and more about love.

 

Mila shows up at their house on the last day of September with a cake.

“Hey Yuuri, what’s up, long time no see!” She says, winking, presumably because Yuuri had seen her no more than two hours ago at the barn.

“Um, not much?” Yuuri says. “Why the cake?”

She looks at him for a second, eyebrows pulled together, before she sighs and says, “I hate Viktor.”

“I mean…” Yuuri says.

“He forgot to tell you, didn’t he?”

“What?” Yuuri says. Is today Viktor’s birthday? He knows today isn’t Viktor’s birthday. He’s had Viktor’s birthday memorized since he was fourteen.

Mila sets the cake on the counter, “Viktor wanted to hold a meeting with everyone and figure out the showing schedule leading up to Developing Horse, but he probably wrote it on his stupid calendar and completely forgot to tell you about it.”

It...does sound like something Viktor would do. “He went to go pick up Rocky’s eyedrops, but he should be back soon.”

“Well, we can get started on the cake, then,” Mila says. “God, can that horse go one day without doing _something_ to himself?”

“I guess not,” Yuuri says. “Did you see the note I left on Hersey’s stall?”

“Oh, yeah, I was wondering about the bungee cord tying on the door for a minute. That little devil!”

“I wouldn’t have realized he knew how to open his door if I hadn’t forgotten my whip by his stall,” Yuuri says.

“That horse is too damn smart for his own good. I guess I’m going to have to put up some chicken wire or something so he can’t hang his head out,” Mila says, shoving a plate of cake Yuuri’s way.

Mila is friendly, willing to talk at Yuuri until he loosens up. They sit at the kitchen table and Mila launches into the newest gossip at Yakov’s, which is apparently the fact that Yakov’s ex-wife is back and, in Mila’s words, “kicking tiny Yuri’s ass.”

“We just call him Yurio!” Viktor calls, coming through the garage door with a _woosh_ as he usually does.

“You’re the worst, Viktor,” Mila says.

“You brought cake,” Viktor says.

“You forgot to tell Yuuri that we were meeting tonight! You’re going to give him a heart attack some day!”

Viktor gasps. “Oh-h!” He hurries around the table and wraps his arms around Yuuri’s shoulders, nearly pulling him out of his seats. “I am so sorry! But now you got a surprise cake!”

“What if he had plans?” Mila says, pointing at Viktor with her fork.

Yuuri and Viktor both huff out a tiny laugh at the same time. Mila rolls her eyes.

“Did you have plans?” Viktor says.

“Um, no.”

“Well, it all works out then,” Viktor says, rocking Yuuri slightly back and forth.

There’s another knock at the door. “I’ll get it so I don’t disturb you two,” Mila says, setting her fork down with a pointed _clink._

“I _mean,_ ” Yuuri says. Viktor rests the point of his chin on the top of Yuuri’s head.

“Guess who brought wine?” Someone cackles.

“Minako?” Yuuri says.

“You didn’t think I would let anyone else be your groom, did you?” Minako says. She’s carrying about three bottles of wine and a bottle of margarita mix.

“You quit at Celestino’s?” Yuuri says.

“Well, Celestino said that he was assuming I would be your groom for this season, and I said of course, and he said to tell you best of luck and that Phichit will probably beat you at Developing Horse.”

“Ah-h-h,” Yuuri moans, sinking down into his chair.

“I’ll get the glasses!” Viktor says, abandoning Yuuri to help Minako turn the kitchen counter into a literal wine bar.

“Okay, let’s get back to it,” Mila says, settling back at the table. “Viktor! You heard about Lilia coming back?”

Viktor collects gossip like he collects rocks and shells and dog toys for Makkachin. “Are she and Yakov getting back together?” He says, settling into a chair next to Yuuri with a glass of wine.

“You look like a forty year old mom,” Mila says. This isn’t quite true, because Viktor is wearing a burgundy v-neck that is about a size too big, showing off his sharp collarbones and making his eyes look even brighter and bluer than usual. It’s also very soft. Viktor scoots his chair closer to Yuuri’s, pressing their arms together.

Viktor shrugs and takes a sip of wine.

“Well, if you must know,” Mila says, leaning her elbows on the table. “Lilia says no, and Yakov says he never even thought about it.”

By the time they have completed their plan for the season, Minako is suggesting shots.

“Actually, I do have plans,” Yuuri says. “Time for you to _go._ ”

Minako is vaguely wine-drunk, cheeks very flushed. “Plans? For what?” She winks, big and exaggerated.

“I have to skype my _parents_ ,” Yuuri says.

“I’ll drive her home,” Mila says quickly.

“Thank you,” Yuuri says. He almost yells for Viktor, who is still poking through the cabinets looking for his Russian vodka, to get Minako’s coat, but quickly remembers that Viktor is his _trainer_ and he needs to _not_ boss his trainer around because no matter what Minako and Mila might obviously think they are in a _strictly_ trainer/student relationship, they probably couldn’t even be considered _friends…_

“Stay safe, you crazy kids!” Minako says, tossing her arms around Yuuri.

“Uh. You too,” Yuuri says.

“Brilliant planning,” Viktor says, after Yuuri shuts the door behind Minako and Mila. “You hustled them out so quick that Mila forgot the rest of the cake.”

“Oh no!” Yuuri says. “I’ll give it to her tomorrow!”

“No way!” Viktor says. “It’s ours now.” He cuts himself another slice and settles in on the couch. “Are we skyping the fam?”

“Don’t say fam--” Yuuri starts, before remembering his _don’t boss Viktor around!_ resolution. “Sure. I’ll go get my laptop.”

Viktor leans his elbow and Yuuri’s shoulder. Yuuri’s family loves Viktor, with his smooth manners that the Katsukis tease until a flicker of the impulsive and strange and absent-minded and fiercely-self-constructed Viktor underneath shows.

“So we’ll do one more GMO show at Fourth level,” Viktor is saying in English, gesturing with one hand, the other hand tucked between his thigh and Yuuri’s.

“GMO?” Mari says. “Like the vegetable?”

“No, it stands for Group Member Organization...it’s kind of like a regional club?” Viktor says.

Yuuri translates into Japanese, and his family ohh’s and hmm’s appropriately.

“Then we’re going to start on the CDI shows, the ones that are recognized by the FEI,” Viktor says.

“International Equestrian Federation,” Yuuri clarifies.

“And then we’ll send in our scores to Developing Horse and hope we qualify!”

More ohh’s and ahh’s. Yuuri’s dad applauds.

Mari’s phone dings. “Huh. Minako just texted me. Was she drinking or something?”

“Um, she might be just a little tipsy?” Yuuri says.

Mari quirks an eyebrow. “I told her that we were skyping with you and Vik-chan and she said, ‘hahaha so wait they actually are skyping you??? Also you’re...’” Mari squints closer at the text message. “Um, and a bunch of other stuff. At least, I think that’s what she said.”

“Minako! That scamp!” Viktor says, delighted.

 

Goldfinger has started nickering, soft and low, when she sees Yuuri. It makes him melt every time. Horses like her don’t come around every year. He might never meet another horse like her, so poised to become an athlete at the highest levels of the sport. The leaves are changing, even in California: red like a second-place ribbon but, gold, too. When Yuuri and Viktor encounter a herd of deer on their weekly hack (the four-year frozen in place, trembling, nostrils flared, Goldfinger taking it in stride), the does are fat for the winter, the buck glaring aggressively but backing down.

For so long, Yuuri had thought he was fighting alone, but now, heading back to the barn with Viktor at his side and Goldfinger peering at Yuuri up on her back from the corner of her eye, that doesn’t feel true anymore. He’s going back to Mila, who will tease and tell them about Yurio, who is turning gentler and quieter and steel-cored with determination. And all along, he has had his parents, and Mari, and Yuuko’s kind but firmly unwavering belief in him, and Takeshi’s friendly ribbing, and the triplet’s pranks and Minami’s starry eyes. He’s had Minako, slipping between trainer and friend and surrogate mother ever since she left with him for the US when he was just out of high school.

He’s perched on the edge of a precipice. It feels like preparing to get on a hot horse in the cold: a knot of nervousness in his stomach. But it also feels like the rocking back onto the haunches before bursting into a victory gallop.

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked it and would like to see more i really appreciate comments as they motivate me to keep writing even if it gets sticky! it is so rare to have content that truly treats gay relationships as beautiful and healthy and not something funny or weird or unhealthy AND i really relate the depiction of yuuri struggling with anxiety related to his sport as i experience similar anxiety about riding so like. im love yuri on ice.


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